The Lucky Cat
by Authoressinhiding
Summary: Sara Gilley walked into the Lucky Cat cafe looking for lunch and a new job. Instead, she found elves, irresistible food, and more adventure than she ever expected. Warning: expect slight crack.
1. Broccoli Soup

**Disclaimer: The legal representatives of the writer hereafter referred to as Authoressinhiding have advised her that it is in her best interests to post a statement warning readers that she has no real power or control over any fandoms, characters, or settings in this story. Not even her original ones. They were stolen by pirates from Madgascar.**

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"Could you tell me what's the best thing to order here?"

Finley looked up from his book to size up the new customer. The girl was in her late teens or very early twenties. She had short, spiky brown hair and bright brown eyes hidden behind glasses that had seen their fair share of abuse. The girl was wearing jeans, converse, and a Star Trek t-shirt. Finley relaxed. She was a normie.

"Our fried green tomatoes are always excellent," he said noncommittally.

She made a face. "I don't feel like tomatoes. Anything else you'd recommend?"

"I probably shouldn't tell you this, " Finley raised his voice ever so slightly, "but our cook makes a mean peanut butter and jelly sandwich."

Curses and loud clattering noises rang out from the kitchen behind him. Finley grinned, satisfied, then turned his attention back to the customer. "What's your name, Miss?"

"Why? It's Sara."

"Sara. Nice. Usually we get girls with five middle names in here. Then it's harder to make suggestions."

"Oh?"

"For example, Miss Sara the Trekkie, I bet you like broccoli cheddar soup."

"What the – "

Finley laughed. "It's a talent I have. Bernie!" he called over his shoulder to the cook. "I need a B.C. for a Sara!"

"Five minutes!" yelled a woman's voice.

"Bernie makes everything from scratch," he explained, seeing Sara's confused look. "She's the cook – and owner – of The Lucky Cat. I'm Finley, by the way. We're too cheap an establishment to spring for fancy silver-plated nametags."

Sara smiled tentatively; Finley's grin was infectious. Glancing about The Lucky Cat, Sara admired its cleanliness. She had entered the café because it was the only restaurant on the block that looked to promise food both edible and affordable. Now that she was inside, she liked it even better.

A lean calico cat slunk out from behind the bar and slowly meandered to a worn cushion set by the door. It settled itself on the cushion with an air of infinite superiority.

"Sara, I'd like you to meet Rosalind, Bernie's pet."

"The Lucky Cat?" Sara guessed.

"Yep, that's her. Although I swear it should be The Bad-Tempered Cat. Rosa can be quite the pain." Finley shut his book. "I'll be right back. Just let me put this up." He strolled over to the large bookcase set in one wall.

Sara took full advantage of the opportunity to check Finley out. He was nearly six feet tall with a long ponytail of fiercely red hair. A plain white t-shirt and dark jeans couldn't hide a spare frame covered with lean muscle. He seemed to be several years older than she was, but she couldn't tell.

"I'm twenty-seven," he answered her unspoken question, returning to the bar.

"How did you … ?"

"Psychology major." There was that brilliant smile again. "I'm pretty good at reading people."

"Order up!" A cloud of yummy-smelling steam preceded the bowl of soup into the room.

Finley took the soup and set in on the counter before Sara. "That'll be four thirty-nine."

The girl hastily dug in her Cheshire Cat messenger bag for a duct tape wallet. She pulled out four ones and two quarters with a mournful air.

"Hate saying goodbye to your money?" the man teased, popping open the cash register to retrieve her change.

"I always spend it faster than I earn it," she replied dejectedly and slid her rear end onto a bar stool. "I don't know where it runs off to."

"Here's your receipt, and eleven cents is your change." Finley handed the girl a penny and a dime. "Want a roll?"

"Huh?"

"Of course you do. Bern! Roll!" he hollered back into the kitchen. More curses followed, then a roll hurtled through the small window between the kitchen and the bar. "Thanks, Bernie!" Finley caught the flying food easily and placed it beside Sara's bowl of soup.

Slightly startled, Sara stared at him, mouth hanging open. Noticing, Finley smiled. "Dig in. I promise it won't eat you."

Embarrassed to have been caught in such an awkward moment, Sara hurried to comply. She shoveled down soup as fast as she could without burning her mouth. At first she did so to hide her mortification, but once she actually tasted the soup, she ate even more ravenously.

"This is amazing!" she blurted between bites, taking her roll and dipping it into the broccoli cheddar delight. "Absolutely amazing! And this roll is incredible!"

The bartender nodded, amused by her enthusiasm. "Bernie knows what she's doing, that's for sure."

"Is everything here this good?" Sara asked when she next surfaced for air.

"More or less, yeah. It depends on your tastes, what you like and don't like, that sort of thing."

"How did you know I liked broccoli and cheddar soup?"

"What normal, healthy, trendy eighteen-year-old doesn't?" he said glibly. He picked up a rag from behind the bar and ran it lazily over the counter.

"I'm nineteen," she corrected sharply. "And I'm not trendy."

"I beg your pardon. Should I have said twenty? Would my guess be less insulting then?"

Sara flushed. She hadn't expected him to discern the reason behind her annoyance. "No, I… Sorry."

"And you are trendy." Finley went on to prove his point. "You wear comic-strip converse, carry an _Alice in Wonderland_ bag, and have a Star Trek shirt. I mean, talk about product placement."

"Yeah, well, at least it's not a red shirt," the nineteen-year-old said defensively.

"Which is good, because I'd hate for you to die."

Stuffing the last bit of roll in her mouth, Sara glared at him suspiciously. Finley had turned away to rearrange the surprisingly pretty pyramid of alcohol bottles near the back wall, so he missed her evil look. Was he flirting with her? He had sounded sincere enough, but with boys, Sara knew, you could never tell.

_Deceitful, confusing, immature, messy brutes, the lot of them,_ she thought. _Bless their hearts._

Although potential flirting cheered her, she was determined to be wary. Sara did _not_ need man trouble in her life, not with school and living expenses, and trying to find a job. Speaking of which . . .

"Finley?"

"One second. Aaaaaaahhh!"

With a great crash, the tower of glass tumbled to the floor, each bottle shattering into a thousand tiny pieces. The din was deafening. Sara leapt back, clutching her bowl. Finley quickly buried his face in his hands as the glass exploded all around him.

"Bloody h%!," he swore, stumbling away from the mess. His hands were covered with minor cuts, and a short scratch above his left eyebrow gave him a certain piratical look. "Ow, gods, that hurts." He plucked a sliver of green glass out of the back of his hand. "Go fetch me the first-aid kit? It's over there beside the bookshelf."

Sara hastened to find it, returning seconds later with a red plastic tackle box. "Here." She popped the lid open.

"Thanks." Finley looked from his injured hands to the first-aid kit and back again. "Sara, I hate to ask this, but could you help me just a little bit more?"

"Sure. What do you need?"

"Those big bandages, the antibiotic ointment, and the hydrogen peroxide, and maybe some of that – "

"How about hot water and soap?"

"Oh." Finley paused in his litany. "Yeah. That would probably be good."

"Where's the sink?" prompted the girl. "Or do you not have running water?"

He ignored the sarcasm, reluctantly venturing back behind the counter. With a few violent winces, he scrubbed his hands vigorously with soap, then water, and finally peroxide. Then he bandaged them up and put a band-aid on his forehead.

"What's going on in there?" came the rather belated bellow from the kitchen.

"I broke some bottles," Finley called back. "Nothing to worry about."

Bernie swore loudly. "One of these days, I'm going to fire you!"

Finley calmly tossed his band-aid trash in the waste bin, found the broom, and began to sweep up the glass. "She'll never do it," he told Sara conspiratorially. "Who else would put up with her?"

Shrugging, Sara returned the first-aid kit to its place. It wasn't her place to comment on his employer, especially considering she had yet to meet Bernie.

"Did you get to finish your soup?" Finley asked solicitously. "Bernie hates it when her food goes uneaten."

"I slurped most of it," she shot her soup bowl a wary glance, "but I think it might be contaminated with glass now."

"I apologize for being such a klutz." The bartended bowed with a great many unnecessary flourishes. "Will you ever forgive me, Lady Sara?"

Again with the flirting. Sara grinned back at him anyway. "Of course I will."

"Good." He sighed in pretended relief. "Bernie might not."

"Hmm. Let's see . . . You break her dishes, besmirch her good name, and befoul her customer's soup. No wonder she's tempted to fire you."

Laughing, Finley had to agree. "You'd think after five years of working for her, I'd be a better employee."

"Perhaps you might be an expert on competence, not clumsiness?"

Before Finley could come up with an appropriate comeback, the bell above the door chimed. They both turned to look at the newcomer. Wrapped from head to black leather boot tops in a dark evergreen cloak, the tall figure strode past them into the kitchen. As the door swung shut behind him, a soft, low voice asked a question.

"NO!" Bernie shouted at the top of her lungs. "For the last time, we are permanently out of Lembas bread! Now get out of my kitchen!"

The figure retreated mournfully from Bernie's domain, doffing his hood as he went. He looked up to see the others watching him intently.

"Hey, Haldir," Finley grinned. "Come to get your Lembas fix?"

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**Review?**


	2. Chocolate Pie

**Disclaimer: Since the legal representatives of the writer here referred to as Authoressinhiding have failed to recover her original ideas from the Malagasy pirates, they have been sacked. Unfortunately, there were no actual sacks involved.**

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Sara froze. She hastily looked Haldir up and down. He was thin and blond with clear gray eyes. Dressed head to toe in silver green, he had a long dagger on his finely tooled leather belt. He _looked _like her idea of an elf, but his ears were obscured by his ponytail, so she couldn't tell for sure. Even then, they might have been prosthetics. Sara had a pair of wax horns somewhere in her bedroom and was an experienced veteran of Renaissance Faires. Just because Finley had called this new guy Haldir didn't mean he was the real Lothlorien Haldir. Sometimes people had extremely weird nicknames. Sara would know.

The possible Haldir wrung his hands in agitation. "I need it, Fin. Badly."

"Did you ever think about making lembas yourself?" Sara asked, unable to keep her mouth shut. "I mean, it can't be as difficult as baking a fancy wedding cake."

Haldir turned desperate eyes on her. "Finley, who is this?"

"Sara. She's a friend." Finley gave Sara a quick warning glance. "Look, Haldir, she has a point. You could try to make it yourself."

"It would never be as good as Bernie's," Haldir said dejectedly.

"True," shrugged Fin. "But you could try."

"No time for that. We've got to be on the road."

"We?" Sara really needed to keep her mouth shut, but it wasn't going to happen any time soon.

"My brothers and I. We've got a show today."

"Oh, Rumil and Orophin are in town?" Finley grinned. "You should bring them in tonight. It's been a while since we all got together."

"Drinks on the house?"

"Ha! If Bernie won't make you lembas at an exorbitant price, what makes you think she'll give you free wine?" Finley was enjoying this.

"One can hope," Haldir replied dryly. "Speaking of hope – would you pleasetry to persuade Bernie into making me lembas?"

"Let's not hope foolishly now," laughed Finley.

Suddenly beseeching, Haldir looked at Sara. "Would _you _ask Bernie to make me lembas?"

"Um . . . um . . . hrm . . . uh . . ." Sara struggled to find the words to tell this elf pretender that she would rather waltz with a saber tooth tiger than invade Bernie's kitchen.

"Thank you so much! I do appreciate it!" Haldir clasped her hand with both of his, and then slipped from the restaurant.

"Crap! What did I just agree to?" Sara wondered.

"An impossible task. Bernie's already said 'no' once. She's not likely to change her mind. Especially where her ex is involved. It isn't your fault, though. Elves have a way of getting girls to go along with the oddest plans."

Sara needed a moment to process this. Her brain was in danger of overheating. "Elves?" she blurted. "So he really is one? I thought so, but there are lots of ways to fake things nowadays. And my imagination tends to run away with me. Elves? Really?" She thought for a second. "Cool. Hold the phone . . . Bernie's ex?"

Finley was momentarily embarrassed. "Bernie," he said with a sigh, "likes men. She likes to date men."

"Elves aren't men," Sara noted.

"Sara, has anyone ever told you that you nitpick? No? I'm surprised. Bernie likes males – is that better? And for whatever reason, men, Elves, and even the occasional dwarf or lich king tend to like her back. So Bernie has a lot of men friends and has dated the majority of them."

"Oh." The girl reflected on this. "Did she and Haldir have a bad breakup?"

"Not particularly. She's had much worse."

"Then why the" –

"Then why the refusal to make lembas? Go in and ask her yourself." Finley gave Sara a light push towards the swinging kitchen door. "Atta girl."

Sara glared at him, then stepped into the lair of the beast.

It was a spotless, gleaming, smelly kitchen. Bunches of dried herbs hung from shelves alongside the left wall. Two giant silver refrigerators stood at the back of the room, surrounded by a stove, a large range, and an industrial sized dishwasher. The smell of herbs, spices, and a heady dose of almond extract filled the air. Sara stared in wonder, letting in all sink in.

"Who are you, and what exactly do you think you're doing in my kitchen?" shouted a voice in her ear.

Sara jumped guiltily. Facing her in an attitude of extreme belligerence was a short, frizzy-haired brunette. She was neither thin nor fat but somewhere in between. Deep-set hazel eyes, framed by long, thick lashes, smoldered angrily.

"I'm Sara," the girl gulped, extending a trembling hand.

"Hmm." The woman looked Sara over. "The soup girl. What's your full name?"

"Sara Anne Gilley. Why?" Sara felt silly but kept holding her hand out.

"You sure? That's all of your name?"

"Of course I'm sure. It's my name, after all."

"Good." She seized Sara's hand and shook it. "I'm Bernice Chapman, owner of the Lucky Cat. Did you enjoy the soup?"

"It was wonderful."

Bernice nodded, accepting the praise as her due. "Well, how can I help you? Or is my soup so attractive you just came begging back for more?"

Sara blinked a few times while this statement sank in. "Um… no…. I was just wondering about Haldir, you see, and Finley said I should ask you. He kind of pushed me in here."

The cook was suddenly hostile again. "Why do you want to know about Haldir?"

"I've never met an elf before," Sara admitted freely. "I had no idea they were real."

"Do you believe in them now?"

"Well, maybe. I'd like to see his ears first. Just to make sure. But right now I'm willing to take Finley's word on it. Anyway, Finley said you two had dated, and I was rather curious why you wouldn't make him lembas. So I asked Finley, and he sent me in here."

"Call him Fin," Bernie said shortly. "That boy doesn't deserve two syllables. Sorry for acting suspicious. I doubt you're one of _Them_, here to chase Haldir. Actually, I don't see how you could be."

"_Them_?" Sara asked.

"_Them_," the older woman replied decisively. "I should have known when I asked your name. _They_ never have less than three middle names, and _They_ can never keep that fact to _Themselves_. More's the pity. Besides, your initials spell SAG and GAS. _They _would never be so indelicate."

Whoosh. That all flew straight over the top of Sara's head. "My initials aside, what about Haldir? If you're willing to tell me, that is."

"I refuse to be an enabler. Want some pie?"

The girl immediately perked up at the subject change. "Pie?"

Bernie eyed her meditatively. "Chocolate, I think."

"I _love_ chocolate pie." Sara's eyes got huge.

"I thought you might. I have one in the oven right now. It'll be ready in a few hours. I'll give you a free piece if you do me a little favor." Her hazel eyes were suddenly shrewd.

Sara was not so easily caught unawares. "That could work. What would you like me to do?"

Bernice's eyes flashed with a green light. "Find Haldir. Teach him how to make lembas."

"But I can't cook. I mean, my lemonade pie is a **total** beast – in a good way – and I am an expert at catching marshmallows on fire, but other than that . . . Nope."

"Before you totally reject my offer, I want to make sure you understand what you're giving up here," said Bernie quite reasonably. She quickly moved to one of the industrial sized refrigerators and whipped out a single slice of chocolate perfection. "If you like this, I'll save that whole pie for you for later. Whipped cream?"

"Yes, please!" At this point, Sara had anime-sized eyes. She watched Bernie slather homemade whipped cream on the pie. "Oh, that looks good."

The cook grabbed a fork and handed pie and fork to Sara. "Tastes good, too, or so they tell me."

Closing her eyes in complete ecstasy, the girl savored each bite of her pie. "Om nom nom," she announced with a smile when the last few crumbs had vanished.

"Did you like it? Was it good?"

"Fabulous."

"Good." Bernie had that weird green-eyed smile again. "So, how about our bargain?"

"I can do it," Sara declared confidently. "No problem."

"Excellent."

Grinning, Sara exited the kitchen. Finley, who had tried unsuccessfully to listen in on the conversation, watched the teenager and let out a low whistle. "Wow. She sure did a number on you."

Sara ignored this. "Finley, where can I find Haldir? It's important."

"I'll say . . . He's doing a show. On 11th and Brookside. Place called the Marquis. Big building. Garish Corinthian columns. Take the red line to the fourth stop. It's a block west of there. You can't miss it."

"Thanks." She headed for the door.

"Are you sure you're okay? You seem a little …"

"I'm fine. Thanks, Fin!"

Helpless, Finley let her walk out the door. He waited until she was halfway across the street before storming into the kitchen. "Bernice! What did you do?"

* * *

Sara found the Marquis with ease, just as Finley had said. The marquee outside boasted of a new production of Robin Hood that was set to premiere that night.

"Robin Hood?" the girl muttered to herself as she pushed open the massive front door. "More like _Men in Tights_, I shouldn't wonder."

The foyer of the theatre was filled with a mad hodgepodge of contemporary art. Sara rarely understood contemporary art. It left her feeling confused and slightly skeptical. She wandered through the room for a good few minutes, somewhat in a daze. So absorbed was she in the conundrum that is modern art that she collided painfully with someone.

"Ooh, ah, I'm so sorry, sir. Oh, it's you." Fortuitously, her poor victim was none other than Haldir himself.

"No, no, it was my fault. Wait, I remember you. Sara, right? Finley's friend? Come to see the show? It doesn't start until seven, but you could watch Maid Marian practice her pining scene."

"Actually, um, I need to talk to _you_, Haldir."

"Shh! Not so loud. Here it's just plain Hal. What do you need?"

"We have to make lembas. Now. Well, I need to make it for you."

"What? No. I have rehearsal." Haldir turned to go.

She snatched his hand and made him face her. "What's wrong with you? An hour ago you were all gung ho on the lembas train. You could barely think for wanting it. And now it doesn't matter? No. You're coming with me. We are going to make lembas."

"I don't even know you. Now is not the time for lembas. Why are you so determined to cook for me?"

"Bernie gave me pie." Sara's brown eyes were strangely dilated. She smiled to herself at the thought of that pie.

Haldir stared at her in disbelief. His gray eyes suddenly narrowed suspiciously. "Did Bernie promise you more pie if you cooked for me?"

Sara nodded with a blissful smile. "If I make you lembas, she's going to give me a whole pie, all to myself."

The elf struggled against the urge to grab the girl's shoulders and shake her violently. "Sara," he said in a careful, strained voice, "did you ever read _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I did. Why?"

He continued calmly. "Do you remember how the White Witch fed Edmund enchanted Turkish Delight?"

"Uh huh." Sara didn't quite see where this was going.

"Well, you see..." Haldir lost it. "BERNIE GAVE HER THE RECIPE!"

"Huh?"

Haldir sighed. He grabbed Sara's arm and towed her down a hallway. "Come on. I have to go change clothes, and then we are going grocery shopping. Hopefully the two of us can figure out how to bake lembas before you lose your mind."

He shot Sara a glance. She was starting to drool, staring off into space and mouthing the word "pie".

The elf quickly amended his statement. "That is, if we're not too late already."

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**A/N: Reviews are greatly appreciated, and flames will be used to further punish the sacked legal representatives of AiH**


	3. Squid Salad

**A/N: Sorry it's taken me so long to update. What with starting college and trying to find equilibrium here… I've been distracted. Not to mention I have oneshots buzzing around my brain like the giant bees of Beorn's bee-pastures. You know, the ones with gleaming black bodies and yellow bands the size of Bilbo's thumb? Those bees. Yeah.**

**Disclaimer: AiH has yet to recover any of her characters from the Malagasy pirates. She is now taking volunteers to commandeer a ship of the Fleet, pick up a crew in Tortuga, and raid, pillage, plunder, and otherwise pilfer their weaselly black guts out until her ideas have been restored.**

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Haldir hauled the girl down to his dressing room. A long strip of duct tape covered the old painted nameplate. It bore the legend "The Brothers Treegarth."

"Stay here," the elf ordered, letting go of Sara. He nipped into the changing room and came out a moment later, clad in dark jeans, a white pinstriped button-up, and chocolate suede slip-ons. Haldir slip his hair elastic onto one wrist. He tossed his head, and Sara gaped, fascinated, by the swishing golden curtain of hair. Whoever _They_ were, she could definitely see why_ They_ were interested in Haldir. If it weren't for her scruples and compulsive need to make lembas **_NOW_**, Sara would probably be interested in him herself.

Noticing the girl's open-mouthed stare, Haldir hastily put his hair up again. Sara sighed in disappointment.

"You're real pretty, did you know that?"

"So I've been told. Let's go."

Sara followed the elf meekly out into the bright autumn day. He walked briskly down the sidewalk, his hands shoved angrily in his pockets. Humming to herself, Sara trotted along after him. Haldir had a fast walk, and so they reached the grocery store in ten minutes.

Archer's Organic Emporium was one of those expensive, high-end, hoity-toity, health-nut food stores that Sara could never afford on her own. Besides, the name made her giggle. Haldir shot the teenager a venomous look. He really had better things to be doing today, but if he left her alone, terrible things would happen. Haldir well knew the dangers of Bernie's cooking.

"Hurry up, would you?" he said brusquely, dragging Sara inside.

Elf and girl hustled about the store with Sara getting distracted every few seconds. First she had to make fun of the weird-looking mushrooms. Then Sara counted all the different types of cheeses and turned their names into a song. Haldir endured two minutes of this before threatening her with the Evil Marchwarden of Lorien Death GlareTM and miming a sharp stabbing motion at his heart. Abashed, Sara quit singing, only to cry "Oooh!" and run off to the seafood section. She gazed intently at the nasty, goopy squid salad until Haldir tore her away.

"What happened to your lembas compulsion?" he demanded somewhat angrily.

"Squid!"

Sighing, the elf grabbed her hand again. Sara allowed herself to be pulled through the baking goods section. Her plan had worked rather well. Not that squid salad wasn't creepy and interesting. It was, just not as much as she had been making it out to be. Anyway, now Haldir was more interested in and committed to making lembas than she was. Which couldn't be a bad thing. Deep in the back of her brain, Sara felt the pressing lembas urge. Since they were shopping for lembas ingredients, it had relaxed a bit, but still. . .

"All right, that's everything. Could you please focus now?"

Sara glanced into the basket Haldir held over one arm. "Butter, flour, sugar, raisins, eggs, milk, cream," she named the groceries aloud.

"Self-rising flour," Haldir corrected.

"Whatever." Sara waved this away. "Um, Haldir, we could have gotten these – and most of the same brands, too – at any grocery store. Why come to this pricey place?"

The elf reached out and snagged one last item.

"Cognac?" The girl was astounded.

"Trust me, it's necessary."

There was no arguing with an elf who needed his alcohol. With a nod, Sara accepted the presence of the cognac bottle, and they proceeded to checkout. Haldir paid with a shiny gold credit card. Thinking of her crappy, beat-up debit card, the girl felt both slightly embarrassed and rather jealous. Her embarrassment fled out the window when Haldir saddled her with all the grocery bags except one – he kept the cognac.

"Good afternoon," Mr. Treegarth," said the bellman, tipping his cap.

"I thought you were an amateur actor," Sara hissed as they stepped into the elevator. "Isn't this place kind of swanky for an actor?"

Haldir looked even smugger than usual, if that were possible. "There is always more to an elf than meets the eye. Remember that, young Sara."

Sara promptly stuck her tongue out at him. It was the only possible response.

Tutting in an incredibly annoying fashion, the elf stepped off the elevator into a gorgeous, light, airy room with gigantic floor-to-ceiling windows.

"You like?" he asked casually, walking through the expensively furnished living room.

Gaping, Sara looked all about her. Still in shock, she mumbled, "I didn't think you lived in the penthouse."

Haldir smirked. His smugness before was nothing compared to this. The teenager wondered into the kitchen as if in a doze. It was almost as shiny as Bernie's.

"All right, first thing, wash your hands." Haldir tied a blue Pillsbury Doughboy themed apron around his waist. "My brothers have a twisted sense of humor," he answered Sara's unspoken question.

Sara snorted but washed her hands. While she did so, Haldir got out a mixing bowl and promptly began to measure out the ingredients. He hummed softly under his breath, some show tune she thought she knew but was having a hard time remembering.

Suddenly suspicious, Sara whirled on him. "Haldir. How do you know how to make lembas? I thought you needed Bernie to bake it for you." Her nostrils flared, and her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Loathing! Unadulterated loathing! For your fa – huh?" the elf broke off in the middle of his song. "Oh, lembas."

"Lembas." Sara's steely gaze did not waver an inch.

Haldir blushed. Had Sara been less angry, she would have felt triumphant. "I can make lembas," he admitted in embarrassment. "Nearly every one of the Galadhrim can."

Sara's glare blazed hotter even as her voice became arctic. "Then why on earth do Bernie and I have to make it for you? You lazy, chauvinistic, sexist weasel!"

The elf blanched in the face of extreme teenage wrath. "I can explain," he began hastily, but Sara had had enough. She stormed over to Haldir and punched him square on the nose.

Haldir rocked back on his heels, shocked. Gingerly, he probed his nose, which had quickly turned cherry red. "Ouch."

Sara glowered. Her fury was quite impressive. "You deserved that."

A smattering of applause sounded from behind her. She turned to see two new blond elves standing behind her. One was taller than Haldir by an inch or two with a sharp, thin nose. The other elf, the shortest of the three, had blue gray eyes. The elves stopped clapping and grinned at Sara. "He definitely deserved it," they said together.

"I'm Rumil." The tall one bowed.

"And Orophin." Blue eyes smiled.

"Sara."

"When you three have quite finished!" Haldir's voice was strained, embarrassed, and annoyed. Sara turned back to look at him.

Rumil drawled, "Haldir, don't be a spoilsport. We left practice to come check on you and make sure you were all right. You ought to have been grateful."

"We really were worried," added Orophin. "But then we walked in and saw this girl attacking you. You looked so surprised, we just had to laugh."

"You didn't actually laugh," Sara pointed out, slightly confused. Orophin shot her the smug-elf look. Sara was starting to think they needed to copyright it – if they hadn't already. She demanded, "Are all elves this smarmy, or just you lot?"

The brothers Treegarth turned three incredibly aggravating smirks on her.

"Right. Elves. You ponces." Sara glanced over to the kitchen counter and the odd cornmeal-like mixture of butter and flour that Haldir had been working on. "Haldir. You still owe me an explanation."

Haldir flushed, chagrinned. "Would you believe me if I told you I was under a geas?"

One of his brothers snorted loudly. Sara shook her head once.

"Thought not. Well, Sara, it's a long story."

"We've got time." Haldir wasn't getting out of this that easy.

The elf sighed. He really didn't want to do this. In fact, he could write epic poetry about how much he didn't want to do this. He sighed again. "You see, Sara . . ."

"Here's the short version," Orophin broke in, blue gray eyes dancing.

"Bernie offered to make Haldir lembas once," began Rumil. The tall elf perched himself comfortably on a barstool. "He, being an opportunist, leapt at the chance. Bernie baked lovely lembas. 'Twas nearly as good as Galadriel's."

"But not quite," Orophin picked up the tale. "However, since Galadriel has been out of reach for several millennia now, Bernie's lembas is the best an elf can get."

"I see." Sara was starting to think she got this story, but Haldir shook his head.

"No, you don't. Not yet."

"If you two will allow us to finish?" Rumil was every inch a disapproving, aristocratic storyteller. "As we were saying, Haldir loved Bernie's lembas at once, and gradually he came to have feelings for the woman herself."

The girl's left eyebrow slowly crept up her forehead.

Orophin continued, "Soon, Haldir worked up his courage to ask Bernie out on a date. She said yes. They rented a tandem bicycle, took it for a ride along the river, and got trendy, over-priced gelato. Bernie loved it."

Several eggs could have been fried very successfully on Haldir's scarlet face. Mortified, the former Marchwarden grabbed his pastry cutter and viciously attacked the butter-flour mess. He mumbled something about "homogenous mixtures."

"And so their relationship was born," exposited Rumil, scratching the tip of his nose.

"Haldir spent lots of money, and the woman made baskets of lembas. All was well in paradise."

"Until our dear Hal flirted with third cousin Keredwel at Legolas's birthday party."

Laughing evilly, Sara gasped, "You flirted with family?"

"For the record," Haldir said tightly, "third cousins don't count. And technically, Aragorn and Arwen were first cousins . . . just a couple hundred times removed."

Sara quelled him with a look. "Please do continue, Rumil."

Snickering, the tall elf nodded. "Bernie is a jealous woman, Sara. Haldir had known this but was ignorant of just how fierce that jealousy was. After his dalliance –"

"Flirting is _**NOT **_a dalliance!" Haldir snapped.

Rumil went on as if nothing had happened. "His dalliance with Keredwel, Bernie began to spike his lembas with a secret ingredient. The same ingredient that the White Queen of Narnia uses in her Turkish delight."

"Ha! I knew it!" Sara leapt up and punched the air violently. "I'm not the only one!"

* * *

**A/N: Sorry it's taking me so long. Right now I'm planning on monthly updates, maybe more frequent ones once I get all these oneshots out of my head. Speaking of which, expect some of those as soon as I get them all typed up. As always, reviews are appreciated, and flames will be used to make s'mores. Hey, it's cold out here.**

**AiH**


	4. DeepFried Lembas

**Disclaimer: Well, I've finished reading **_**Fellowship**_** for the umpteenth time, but I still don't own it. –sigh– **

* * *

"Not the only? Ohhh." Orophin's blue-gray eyes grew larger. "She got you, too?"

"Yep." Forcing herself to calm down, Sara pulled up a barstool and sat by Rumil.

"What was it?"

"Chocolate pie. Hey… Haldir, is that why you were lembas-obsessed?"

"Ehem." Rumil coughed loudly. "We have yet to finish our story."

"Right, sorry, my bad." The girl folded her hands in her lap. "See? I'm ready to listen."

Rumil gave her an autocratic warning glance. "To continue, Bernie began spiking Hal's lembas with her special addictive ingredient. It only took a few weeks for Finley to find out. Bernie's actions worried him."

"And so Finley told us. He's quite a nice kid, that Fin. When he gets his doctorate, he'll make a great psychologist. We really ought to send Hal to him."

"Orophin, stay on topic!" snarled Haldir.

Sara was busy digesting the information that Finley was in a PhD program. She hadn't expected it, but somehow it didn't surprise her. He was old enough – and apparently smart enough. "So Finley told you. Then what?"

"They told me," Haldir growled.

"We're telling the story!" yelled his brothers in unison.

"Anyway," Orophin went on in a much pleasanter tone, "Finley told us, we told Hal, and the fighting began."

"Fighting?"

"Verbal fighting as Haldir and Bernie's relationship came apart in a deadly torrential firestorm," Rumil said with relish. "It was a mess. Screaming insults and accusations, throwing dishes and small appliances . . . Bernie's store of invective comes directly from Shakespeare." The tall elf smiled reminiscently. "You really have to admire that sort of dedication."

Sara nodded in fervent agreement. Anyone who profligately used Shakespearian curses got major points.

"Haldir was incensed that Bernie would try to control him against his will. So he broke up with her, and we've been trying to break the lembas-hold on him ever since. We tried everything: our own lembas, the wines of Dorwinion" –

"Waste of a good wine, in my opinion," snorted Rumil.

Orophin nodded ruefully. "Indeed. You have no idea how expensive Dorwinion wine can be. Well, the lembas didn't work. The wine didn't work. The eagle egg omelette didn't work. Bilbo's favorite seed cake recipe didn't work. Nothing worked."

"So we swallowed our pride," Sara wished she could have seen that, "and we put in a call to Elladan and Elrohir. They Fed-Exed us a bottle of miruvor. We got it this morning, gave some to Haldir shortly before rehearsal, and voila! He was cured."

Haldir sighed, reluctantly grateful. "Hannon le, gwadyr. Now if you could just help me?"

The other two elves jumped up, and all three busied themselves with lembas making. Within a few short minutes, the lembas was safely in the oven. Rumil cleaned the kitchen with scary speed, and Orophin set a timer.

Suitably impressed by their efficiency, Sara leaned back to enjoy the spectacle. Then a thought hit her. "Haldir, you guys wouldn't happen to have any more miruvor, would you?"

"Rumil?"

"It's in my bag."

Orophin eyed Sara speculatively. "Three sips should do it, Hal."

"Right." Haldir left the kitchen and returned moments later with a short, slender blue glass bottle. He handed it to Sara. Uncorking the bottle, she looked at its contents for a moment, then took a low, slow drink.

Sara shuddered once and set the bottle down. "Wow. Just wow. That stuff is powerful."

"And very, very expensive." Rumil quickly snatched it away from her.

"All better?" Haldir asked kindly.

"Miruvor really clears your sinuses. Dang." Sara shook her head like a wet dog. "No wonder the sons of Elrond guard the recipe."

"We tried to steal it once, remember?" Orophin's blue eyes lit up as he considered the past. "We snuck a flask into our saddlebags, and Hal distracted Arwen while we rifled through her super-secret cookbook."

The girl raised an eyebrow. "But it didn't work out?"

"No," Rumil said sourly. "Haldir is nowhere near as good at flirting as he thinks he is."

Haldir glanced icily at his brother. "How was I supposed to know she was madly in love with Estel?"

"Even though we all saw them, er, sharing a moment on Cerin Amroth the summer before?"

"Uh, guys, hate to interrupt, but the timer's going off."

The elves leapt into action, rescuing the lembas from the evil oven. They set out plates and butter and tall glasses of water. Haldir put four lembas wafers on the plates and moved the rest to a cooling rack. While Orophin got long green mallorn leaves out of the fridge, Rumil swept Sara into a proper chair and up to the table.

"Your lembas is served," he mocked with a cheerful smile.

Sara waited for the brothers Treegarth to sit and then broke off a corner of the lembas. She placed it in her mouth, savoring it for a moment, then chomped down. The others' plates were bare and replenished and bare again long before she was halfway finished. If elves ate this fast, Sara didn't want to think about the eating habits of hobbits.

"I'm hungry." Orophin got up, rubbing his flat stomach. "Mozzarella sticks, anyone?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of chicken nuggets." Rumil walked across the kitchen and pulled the cover off an industrial-sized deep fryer. He twirled a dial and within minutes, the oil started sizzling.

Orophin took bags of frozen food out of the freezer. Humming the theme to _Phantom of the Opera_ under his breath, he counted out mozzarella sticks, chicken nuggets, and french fries. His brother moved the piles to the fryer, improvising a harmony. Sara watched, wide-eyed.

Suddenly Haldir had an idea. "Fry some of this." He tossed two lembas wafers to Rumil, who caught them and sentenced them to boiling oil.

"You ready for this?" Orophin shot Sara an appraising glance.

"I was born ready."

The blue-eyed elf heaped a plate full of fried food and set it on the table. He got out a giant bottle of ketchup and a slightly smaller bottle of ranch dressing. Rumil and Orophin sat back down, and the feasting began. Sara hadn't eaten so much yummy, hot, greasy food in ages. She drowned chicken nuggets and reveled in stretchy cheesy mozzarella goodness. The fried lembas was absolutely amazing.

After a good half hour's steady eating, the four feasters pushed back their chairs and wiped their greasy faces. Rumil finally turned off the deep fryer. He mumbled something about needing a nap and wandered off. Orophin soon followed. Haldir and Sara sat for a moment longer, in grave danger of slipping into a food coma.

"I should get you back to the Cat."

"Yeah."

"I should."

"And I need to write that essay for British Lit."

"Oh. Good idea. You're in college?"

"Sophomore."

"Oh. We really should go."

"Yeah."

They tried to get up but immediately sat back down again.

"I'm so fat," Sara groaned.

"What?" Haldir looked at her quizzically. "You are not fat."

"Look at this!" Sara grabbed her stomach and shook it. "Look at my jelly belly."

The elf was visibly confused. "I thought that was a type of candy?"

Sara rolled her eyes. "That isn't the point."

"Do you even have a point?"

"No. Not really."

"We should go."

"Yeah."

Eventually, Haldir and Sara managed to leave their chairs. They took the elevator back down to the lobby. Haldir ordered a taxi; Sara stood by the door, staring outside at the rain. A silver curtain of raindrops came pelting down. The street was slowly flooding, and cars and pedestrians both were being swamped by the rising water.

"Look's like Goldberry's doing her spring cleaning." Haldir came up beside Sara and peered out into the gloom. "I wish she'd waited till next week – this is going to make the play tonight a nightmare."

"Goldberry's real?"

"Of course she is" The elf looked slightly annoyed. "Why shouldn't she be?"

"Because . . . because you're all characters from books and fairy stories," said the girl bleakly. "You're not supposed to be real."

Haldir took her firmly by the shoulder and turned her to face him. "The world is a great deal larger than you think it is, Miss Gilley."

"How do you know my last name? I never told you that."

The former Marchwarden ignored her. "Come along. Our taxi's here."

Sara reluctantly followed him out into the rain. They ran to the taxi and piled in, shutting the door just as the rain began to come down even harder. Terrified, Sara clutched her seat belt with white knuckles while the driver exercised great creativity in trying to avoid the giant puddles. Haldir laughed at her discomfort; she kicked him in the shin.

"I think I'm getting sea-sick," she mumbled, turning a pale green.

"Don't you dare throw up on me. These jeans are brand new."

Luckily, before Sara could work up enough nausea to puke, the taxi pulled up outside The Lucky Cat. Haldir tossed a couple of twenties into the front seat, and then they sprinted into the café. Finley was talking merrily to two men in thick jackets and heavy boots. He looked up and grinned to see them.

"Gentlemen," Fin announced, "these are my friends Sara and Hal. Sara, Hal, meet Sam and Dean Winchester."

* * *

**A/N: Reviews for your AiH?**


	5. Curly Fries

**Disclaimer: **

**Lawyers: Hail the Mighty Tolkien!**

**AiH: – bowing uncomfortably – Hail!**

* * *

Shell-shocked, Sara stopped trying to wring out the bottom of her T-shirt. She blinked once, twice, three times as her brain struggled to process what exactly had just happened.

The taller of the two men took pity on her. "I'm Sam," he said kindly, stepping forward and extending his hand.

Feeling ridiculous, she shook it. "Sara."

The other man sniggered. He was shorter and darker than his brother, not to mention ruggedly handsome where Sam was more pretty. So many good-looking guys. Sara was beginning to worry.

"Dean," Sam growled.

Dean didn't stop sniggering. "Lighten up, Sammie. Hey, Fin, can I get another beer?" He grinned wolfishly.

Finley raised his eyebrows and set a brown bottle on the counter. "That makes three," he said pleasantly. "Sara, how did you errand go? I guess not too bad, if Hal decided to come back with you. Thought you had a show, Hal?" His green eyes fixed on the elf.

Haldir smiled tightly. "I do. But I needed to have a word with Bernice first."

The bartender's eyebrows climbed even higher. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"It's time." Haldir took a deep breath, then marched stoically into the kitchen.

Confused, Sam and Dean watched as Fin began to count, his eyes shut tight, his fingers plugged in his ears. "One, two, three, four, fi" –

Suddenly the whole café was filled with the shouting that erupted form the kitchen. Loud and shrill, Bernie's voice soared above the tumult, pelting Haldir with curses. Then it was Haldir's turn to dominate the "conversation", his usually genteel tones low and rough.

"Listen to me, you foul-mouthed, sap-skulled, craven, twisted, misshapen harpy!" he bellowed. "How dare you – ow!"

The interrupting clang told Finley that Bernie had thrown a frying pan at Haldir. It was soon followed by an even louder crash.

Finley sighed. "Come on, guys. Let's get out of here before they start hurling the cast iron." He hopped over the bar counter and lifted his jacket off the coat rack by the door.

"Fin, we need information," Sam reminded the bartender quietly.

"I know." Fin slid his arms through the sleeves of his brown bomber jacket. "And I'll help you get it. But unless you want to stay here and get drawn into World War III" –

"Sounds more like an apocalypse to me," muttered Sara.

"Touché. Either way, unless you're ready to face one of Bernie's break-up burn-outs, we should leave."

"Cool," Dean shrugged. "But I'm driving."

"Of course. Sara, you want to come?"

Dean shot Fin an incredulous look. "Are you crazy? We are _not_ taking her along."

Sam looked uncomfortable. "It's nothing against you," he told Sara earnestly. "We just have a very sensitive job to do."

Sara sensed her opportunity for adventure was about to take a flying leap out the window. A choice lay before her. She could catch a bus home, write an essay on Chaucer, and just go back to being the semi-normal college student she'd been that morning. Or she could stand up, make a leap of faith, and write her Chaucer essay tomorrow. The girl inhaled slowly, releasing her inner tension, then decided.

"Oh, I understand," she smiled sweetly. The men felt slightly nervous. "I wouldn't want to keep you from investigating ghoulies or ghosties or wee demon beasties."

Brilliant. She was paraphrasing Peeves the Poltergeist. Fin shuddered. This couldn't end well.

Dean angrily jerked his brother aside. "How does she know?" he demanded through gritted teeth.

"I… I don't know!"

The Winchesters glanced over to Sara. She blinked at them innocently.

"No one normal _ever_ hangs around here," Dean growled. "Well, what are you, sister? A witch or a seer or Fin's latest girlfriend?"

"None of the three. I just read a lot."

"Right." Dean eyed her skeptically. "These aren't day dreams and fairy stories we're after. These are nightmares – and they're real." Seeing she wasn't scared, he went on. "This isn't something we do for fun or fame or fortune, sweetheart. This is our lives, and it may end up costing them."

A particularly loud crash reverberated through the café. Finley twitched unconsciously.

"Seems I'm as likely to face death here as out there with you. And out there makes for a better story."

"You're crazy." Sam couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Okay, she's in," said Dean at the same time.

It took all of Sara's self-control to keep herself from screaming "Yes!" or "Awesome!" or "Sweet!" or something equally embarrassing. She was a college student, not some measly high school girl. "Thanks," she grinned at Dean.

Now it was Sam's turn to be angry with his brother. "Were you even going to ask me?"

"Aw, Sammie, don't take it hard. I could tell you wanted her along. He always has a soft spot for the ladies," added the elder Winchester to Sara in an aside.

Fin wisely chose not to comment. Another thunderous roar sounded from the kitchen, and they all flinched.

"Come back here, you incontinent, effeminate, albino farce of a man!" shrieked Bernie.

"I'm an elf, you infernal hag! Or has your memory gotten so bad in your old age that you forget even that!"

"Time to go!" Sam announced abruptly, ushering the others out into the rain.

Dean led the way as they sprinted to his car, a black Chevy Impala parked just outside The Lucky Cat. Everyone piled in. They shook off their coats and tugged on their seatbelts as Dean fiddled with the radio and cursed the weather.

"Where's your informant, Fin?" asked Sam.

"Hold on. Sara, take this and text Rúmil and Orophin." Finley handed the young woman his phone. "They're under 'Gred and Forge'. Well, they used to be. Tell them that Hal got into it with Bernie. They're going to have to go retrieve him, if they have nay hope of him making the show tonight."

"You're everybody's momma today, aren't you, Fin?"

"Somebody's got to keep a cool head, Dean." Not in the least annoyed, the bartender went on, "Sam, give me that map."

The two of them bent over a map of the city, discussing it in hushed tones. Sara got the message out on Finley's phone, then set it down in her lap and looked up.

"So what are we hunting?"

* * *

They drove around the city for two hours, making stops at various places. Sometimes Dean would pull up in front of dank, dilapidated buildings, and two of the men got out to go question Finley's next informant while the third stayed in the car with Sara. Not that Sara minded. Most of the places they stopped at were sketchy beyond all reason, and, as Dean put it, she didn't look tough enough to scare anyone. And scaring people was highly necessary in the Winchester brothers' line of work.

Whenever they stopped somewhere halfway decent, everyone got out of the car and went in. Sara still had no idea what they were after, but this was definitely more interesting than homework. Finally they came to the end of Finley's rather exhaustive list of people to talk to.

"Thanks, Fin," Sam smiled wryly as they drove away from the last dive. "This should help. A lot."

"No problem. If you'll just drop us of at the closest fast food place, I'll see Sara gets something to eat – and then back home safely."

"Sure thing. So, Sara, what _are_ we hunting?"

Sara frowned thoughtfully. "I'm not sure yet," she confessed. "My head's been full of millers and reeves and Wives of Bath for the last half hour. But I'll figure it out . . . eventually."

Dean laughed. "Tell you what, if you don't guess by the time we solve the case, we'll tell you then, okay?"

"Shake on it. Deal?"

He reached a hand into the backseat, and Sara shook it once. "Deal."

They turned into an Arby's parking lot, and Dean stopped to let his passengers out. "See you tomorrow, Fin. This hunt isn't done yet, not by a long shot."

"I know," Fin said dryly. He and Sara waved goodbye to the Winchesters, then went inside the Arby's. "You hungry?" He held the door open for her.

"Surprisingly, yes." She ducked under his arm and entered the warm restaurant. Her stomach grumbled loudly to confirm this.

"Order whatever you want. Dinner's on me."

The teenager looked at him strangely. What was up with him? Was this a date? She didn't think so, but why else would he be buying her dinner?

"You've had a long day," Finley said in the quiet, calm voice that seemed to be a trademark of his. "It's a lot to take in, finding out the world is so much bigger than you'd imagined. To be honest, I'm kind of waiting for you to go into shock. So have some dinner on me. Besides," Fin flashed her his brilliant smile, "I've been needing someone to discuss Bernie's insanity with."

"She did seem a bit mercurial," Sara said neutrally. She moved forward to the counter and placed her order. "One ham and cheese melt, a large curly fry, and a jamocha shake, please."

Finley stepped up behind her. "I'll have two roast beef sandwiches, fries, and an apple turnover."

Sara didn't feel comfortable with Finley standing so close to her. After a long day spent with several very good-looking men (and elves), she had her hormones on a very tight leash, and she wasn't sure how much more they could take. A few minutes of tense waiting later, their food was ready, and they sat down at a corner booth far away from the counter and any listening ears.

"I told Sam and Dean we were at the end of my list, but there's a couple of people I could still go talk to," Finley mused around a mouthful of beef.

"What are they after?"

"I can't tell you. And you made a deal with Dean, remember?"

"Yes, but _you_ didn't."

The man laughed. "Nice try, Sara, but I wasn't born yesterday."

Disappointed, Sara turned back to her sandwich. She attacked it ravenously. When she'd finished chewing, she asked, "So why couldn't you take Sam and Dean to see your friends?"

Fin swallowed, and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "Understand that Sam and Dean are hunters, and to them the world is mostly black and white. I'm a bartender and a psychology student. I see the world in people, not absolutes. Which is why I can be friends with – oh, hang it all." His phone vibrated noisily and played some old classic rock song. Eyes narrowed in annoyance, he answered it. "Yes? . . . Oh. I'm coming." Fin held the phone to his chest and turned to Sara. "Haldir's missing. Rúmil and Orophin are mounting a search party. You in?"

Sara nodded without a second's hesitation. She had a sneaking feeling her essay was never going to get written.

* * *

**Author's Note: I am trying to update faster on this, I promise. Midterms just ate my soul, and then my muse ran off to Damascus with some handsome cowboy and his gorgeous mustang stallion, and . . . I'm out of excuses. As always, reviews are highly appreciated, and flames will be used to roast asparagus.**

**AiH**


	6. A Glass of Mead

**Disclaimer: Peter Jackson's started filming the Hobbit! Yes! Maybe now he won't notice me . . . -sees Peter Jackson approaching with copyright lawyers- Dang it. Gotta run!**

* * *

"We're in." Finley looked away from Sara. Listening intently to Rumil, he stared down at the remnants of his dinner. "We're at the Arby's on 121st and Sheridan. Uh huh. All right. We'll stay put, work the phones . . . see you in ten." The bartender clicked his phone shut and crumpled his sandwich wrappers into a tiny little ball. "You got a laptop in that bag of yours?"

"Yeah, sure." Slightly unnerved, Sara pulled a slender Macbook out of her messenger bag. She set it on the Formica table between them and hit the power button. "Finley? What exactly happened?"

"You'd better finish your dinner," he said absently, fiddling with the Mac. "There won't be time later. . . Blast, no Wi-Fi. Should've gone to Starbucks." He shut the laptop and passed it back over to her. "Haldir's missing, and they have a show in three hours."

"Ten o'clock? Late show."

"I think it's more of a dress rehearsal, actually. Anyway, the Cat's deserted except for, well, the cat, and he isn't answering his phone."

"Did they call Bernie?"

Finley snorted. "First thing. If she'd finally flipped and murdered Hal, let's just say not all of us would be surprised."

"Did she?"

"Murder him, you mean? I doubt it. Nah, she cursed them a blue streak and said she had no idea where that blasted effete elf was – in more colorful language, of course."

"Of course. Are you going to call Dean and Sam?"

Shaking his head, the bartender took a long, slow drink from his Dr. Pepper. "Elves and the Winchesters . . . they don't do too well on the best of days – which this is definitely not. Besides, there are other considerations."

"Personality differences?" Sara guessed.

"Hole in one. You finished eating?"

Sara stuffed the last bite of her sandwich into her mouth and swallowed quickly. "Yeah."

Together they gathered up all the trash. While Fin went to dump it in the trashcan, Sara slurped her Jamocha shake. There had to be something they could do to find Haldir besides just blindly searching. Lost in thought, she barely saw Finley duck outside to make a phone call. Sara sat at the table, fingers drumming unconsciously against the side of her shake.

Sam and Dean? No, Finley had already vetoed that one. Besides, she had a feeling that all the Winchester brothers' tracking methods would fail them when it came to finding an elf – particularly if he didn't want to be found. Maybe Haldir had GPS on his phone? Now that could lead somewhere. Given their swanky penthouse apartment, the brothers Treegarth probably owned the best technology money could buy.

"Sara!"

Startled, the teenager looked up to see Finley waving wildly to her from the doorway. She abandoned her shake and hurried outside.

Finley turned, gesturing at a sleek silver sedan behind him. Its back door swung open.

"Hop in!" called Orophin from the backseat.

She didn't hesitate, just clambered in as Finley took shotgun. The second the doors were shut, Rumil hit the gas, and the car pelted out of the parking lot.

"Any news?" Fin asked, snapping his seat belt shut.

"Not yet," Orophin replied tensely.

"Did you turn on the GPS activator on his phone? I mean if it has one that you could use to track it?"

"Smart girl, Sara," Rumil's voice was dry as he carefully navigated a sharp right turn. "It does, and we're going to" –

"But it's kind of a last resort," his brother finished.

"Because . . . ?"

The elves exchanged a look with Finley.

"Might as well be hung for a cat as a kitten," Fin shrugged. "She's already in this. I don't see how it could get much worse."

"All right. You see, Sara, using GPS is a last resort for two reasons. One, Hal _really_ doesn't like it – he feels like it infringes on his privacy."

"Two, in order to access the GPS data, we're going to have to go through some rather unpleasant people. Do you have the numbers, Orophin?"

The blue-eyed elf picked a thick manila envelope up off the floorboard and rifled through it until he pulled out a worn sheet of yellowed paper. "I've got them right here."

"Go ahead and call."

"Already on it." Orophin quickly dialed a number into his phone and held it to his ear.

Curious, Sara squinted over at the paper in his hand, but the faded print was too difficult to read in the dim light of the car.

"Who is he calling?" she whispered to Finley, leaning forward. "Dwarves?"

Rumil looked away from the road to grin at her. "Nah. We got over that centuries ago."

"And how many centuries before that did it take for you to work it out?"

"Fin, you humans are _still_ fighting with one another. Don't listen to him, Sara. He's a psychology major; you can't believe a word he says."

Frowning, his brother waved a hand at the other three, signaling for them to be quiet. They heard a sharp voice on the other end of the line, and Orophin's face changed. He looked as if he were swallowing something bitter.

"Could you put the senior partner on the line, please?" he asked in a choked voice, as if being polite was causing him physical pain.

The voice on the other line said something unspeakable rude. Rumil sighed and shook his head. Fin muffled a chuckle. Sara raised her eyebrows, impressed. She hadn't thought that insult was even possible in the English language.

"Is that _really_ how you feel about it?" The elf's tone was venomously sweet. "Because I'm sure Rumil would absolutely _love_ to talk to you. You remember Rumil, don't you, Grolkar?"

Loud, panicked babbling emanated from the phone. The elves smirked slightly.

"That's what I thought," Orophin continued smoothly. "Now put me through to your boss." There was silence for a moment while he waited. Sara listened intently. She never got to overhear other people's conversations and was finding it to be highly exciting.

A new voice spoke, too low and deep for Sara to catch any of the words. Orophin's tone changed in response.

"How are you, Felix?" he said coolly. "Oh, it's Rupert now, is it? I hadn't realized a new name change was in order. Oh, we're all fine."

Sara thought Orophin had a very loose definition of the word "fine". They were driving through super-sketchy parts of town at breakneck speeds, looking for a missing _elf_ of all things, and now it sounded like he was trying to get the Godfather on the line!

"You see, Rupert, Haldir went off on a date, and we have a show in a few hours, and Rumil and I were wondering if . . . " Rupert interrupted him with loud, raucous laughter that rang throughout the backseat.

"No, we did not _lose_ him," replied the elf sharply. "We just need you to send us the GPS coordinates from his phone so we can find him . . . I know you're extremely busy, but you're the only person we thought could get the job done fast enough. If you'd rather, I can always take my business elsewhere or inform the sons of Elrond of your whereabouts. You wouldn't like that, would you, Rupert?"

The voice gabbled on for a moment, then Orophin nodded.

"That should be soon enough. Thank you, Rupert. A pleasure doing business with you, as always." The elf hung up the phone and dropped it into his lap distastefully.

"Rupert?" his brother sniggered. "Seriously, Rupert?"

"You know how he is."

"Sadly. What I don't understand is why we don't just turn him in."

"What are you talking about?" Sara demanded, confused. "Who is Rupert?"

"Goblin," Finley supplied.

"Orc," Rumil countered firmly. "Goblin's too nice a word."

Orophin nodded in agreement. "One of these days, gwador, I really _am_ going to turn him in."

The teenager risked another guess. "Turn him in? To whom? Oh . . . Elladan and Elrohir. They still hunt orcs?"

Rumil's fingers tightened on the wheel. He replied in a strained voice, "We _all_ hunt orcs, Sara. The sons of Elrond are just a bit more dedicated to the cause than we are."

"I can understand that. The orcs tortured their mother. That kind of emotional scarring doesn't heal overnight," Fin said contemplatively.

Snapping his head to the side, Rumil gave the bartender a fierce glare. "No, Finley. No. You are _not_ using Elladan and Elrohir as subject matter for your dissertation."

Finley just laughed. "Havens, no. I was thinking of doing something more along the lines of the difference between friendship and romance and the various kinds of love. Why else would I be working for Bernie?"

"I dunno," Sara mumbled. "Her cooking's pretty darn good. Just saying."

The elves grinned at her. "And ours isn't?" Orophin teased.

Sara refused to commit herself. "Um . . . when is, er, Rupert supposed to call you back?"

Prompted by her question, Orophin glanced down at his phone. "Oh, yeah. He'll start texting me coordinates when he gets them. It might take a few minutes, though. He has to get past a couple of firewalls first. Only reason we go through him, really. For some reason, Rupert's the only one who can sweet talk that wretched security Balrog."

Sara's mouth dropped open. She leaned back against the seat limply. "Security Balrog?"

"All the major corporations have one. Drives Glorfindel absolutely crazy. He's taken up computer hacking, I think."

Still taken aback, Sara blinked at Orophin. Finley had been right. The world was so much bigger than she'd ever thought it was. Struggling to find her voice, she kept staring at the elf. Finally she shook her head in an effort to clear it. "Anybody else I should know about? Hobbits? Numenor? Legolas?"

Orophin looked at her pityingly. "Numenor is long gone. Even Elessar's kingdom, while it lasted a long, glorious time, came to an end, as all things must. We haven't heard from the Halflings for years uncounted – not since the last of the Old Took's line died out. As for Legolas . . ."

"He spends half of his time backpacking across the world and the other half hiding out in a sanitarium somewhere," Rumil said dismissively. "Ever since those blasted movies came out, life's been tough for our Legolas. He's become something of a recluse."

"I remember Bernie complaining once about how she'd never met him," Finley reminisced with a grin. "She always did take that personally."

"No one meets Legolas. Let me repeat that. No. One. So if you've been nurturing a secret crush on Orlando Bloom, best to let it go. Legolas is _nothing_ like that, and he has a pathological fear of women under the age of fifty," Orophin told Sara flatly. "Ah! There's Rupert at last. I was beginning to think I'd need to light a fire under him."

Rumil followed his brother's terse direction through the dark streets. His turns were so sharp that Sara started to feel seasick. She clung to her seatbelt with white fingers.

Fifteen nerve-wracking minutes later, they pulled up in front of a shady-looking club. Cursing in some twisted form of Elvish, Rumil slammed on the brakes and double-parked. The thin elf jumped out of the car, closely followed by his brother and friends. Cool as a cucumber, he strode up the club's bouncer, a heavyset man with dark sweat stains under his armpits.

"Cover's ten apiece," said the bouncer, eyeing them speculatively. "Fifteen for the girl," he added, making it clear that he knew she was underage.

"We're not here to party." Orophin was shorter than the bouncer by a good two inches, and at least three times less broad, but somehow he still managed to be intimidating. Maybe it was his eyes, which glittered coldly like pale chunks of blue ice.

The taller elf pulled a picture out of his jacket pocket and showed it to the bouncer. "We're looking for this man. Have you seen him?"

"Yeah, he came in about an hour ago. I think he's over by the bar."

"Thank you." Finley ducked past him into the club with Sara, Rumil, and Orophin close behind.

"You're welcome," the bouncer replied absently, watching them go. "Hey, wait! You didn't pay your cover!"

Once inside, Finley and Rumil used their height to survey the crowd, looking for a familiar face or shape. Orophin boldly waded through the press of people. When anyone snapped at him, the elf just smiled, and all resistance faded. Totally overwhelmed by the loud music, Sara stood lost in the claustrophobic mess. Suddenly someone's hand claimed her own and dragged her through the crowd.

Sara found herself standing face to face with a very disheveled Haldir. He was surrounded by vapid, anorexic women who glared venomously at Sara for interrupting their tête-à-tête.

"'Ello, luv." Haldir pulled her closer and wrapped an arm about her shoulders. "You look all shiny tonight."

"Are you drunk?" Sara asked curiously. She couldn't really smell alcohol on him, but maybe he was high.

"Not at all. Bernie and I worked out our issues. She gave me a glass of mead, and then she dropped me off here. But I'm not drunk. It takes more than mead to down me."

Whatever Haldir'd had, Sara felt sure it was rather more than one glass of mead. His eyes were rather glassed over, and she highly doubted that a sober Haldir would grasp her quite so proprietarily. The girl tried to shrug out of his grip, but he just pulled her back, tightening his hold.

"Don' go," the elf slurred.

Sara glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. If looks could kill, she would have been incinerated by the bevy of strumpets a hundred times over.

"Okay, Haldir. Okay." Standing on tiptoe, Sara craned her neck to survey the crowd. Thankfully, it didn't take long to spot a familiar head. "Oy, Finley!" she bellowed. "I've got him!"

"What are you talking about?" Haldir complained loudly. "Why are you yelling?"

"Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you don't got him." The alpha über-tramp stepped forward out of the pack to confront Sara. Examining the younger girl's face closely, she snorted in disdain. "Dressing like that, you probably don't got anything. I mean, how old are you? Five?"

Sara was prevented from punching the über-tramp in the face by the timely arrival of Finley. Rumil and Orophin weren't far behind. The three of them took one look at their brother and friend, then swore violently in their language of choice.

"Who let the Dwarves in?" wondered Haldir, wobbling unsteadily as he looked around, searching for short, bearded interlopers.

Frowning, Rumil took in his brother's appearance and sighed. "How we're going to do a show, I have no idea," the elf murmured to himself. "Hal, you are totally…" he paused, hunting for the best word, "zonked."

"Ru – Rumil! Orophin!" Haldir coughed as he rather belatedly caught sight of his siblings. "Finley! What are – hic – what are you all doing here?"

"Time to go, Hal," Fin said quietly. The bartender stepped closer to the inebriated elf. Surprisingly calm, he grasped Haldir's wrist and gently forced him to let go of Sara. "Easy. I know you've had a rough day. Come on, buddy." He put an arm around the elf's waist. Half-pulling, half-dragging him towards the door, Finley glanced over his shoulder at Haldir's circle of admirers and flashed them a dazzling smile.

Haldir's brothers followed right behind him, ushering Sara between them. As if by magic, the group of five found a clear path to the door. Sara turned to look at the elves questioningly.

Grinning, Orophin shook his head. "It isn't us."

They stepped out into the night, and Sara gulped down the clean air. She hadn't realized how nasty the club was until that moment. Ahead of them, Finley was ushering Haldir into the backseat of the car. Then he climbed in after.

"You take shotgun, Sara," offered Orophin. "I'll sit on the other side of Hal. In case he gets nauseous."

"He probably will. He looks drunker than Thranduil that one Yule" –

"When Elrond spiked the mead out of pique?" his brother snickered.

Rumil laughed. "Exactly." He turned to Sara, who was gazing after Finley quizzically. "Fin's got a magic with people," the tall elf explained, tearing a bright orange ticket off his windshield and pocketing it. "Got to remember to give that to Keredwel – her current boyfriend's a lawyer. Anyway, Fin can get people – especially drunk people – to do what he wants them to do. Maybe it's because he's a bartender, maybe because he studies psychology, or maybe it's just Fin."

"Huh." Sara's brain started buzzing as she considered the possibilities.

With a knowing look, he opened her car door. "Entrez-vous, milady."

This time through town, they drove at a slightly more legal speed. After a brief discussion and much dry heaving from the backseat, the elves and Fin decided to take Sara home first.

"You can come see the play later in the week," Orophin assured her. "Fin can take you on his night off."

Hoping no one could see her face in the darkness, Sara flushed. She could feel the heat creeping across her cheeks and mentally kicked herself for having hormones. To make matters worse, the next time Rumil glanced at her, there was a highly amused glint in his eye.

To Sara's great relief, soon they were pulling up outside her apartment building. Muttering a few awkward goodbyes, she hopped out of the car. The girl rushed up the stairwell to her apartment, digging in her messenger bag for the key. She let herself in, then collapsed on the sofa with a huge sigh. Sara stared up at the dark ceiling and wondered what on earth she was going to do next.

* * *

Back in the car, Rumil resumed his reckless driving. They only had an hour and the show, and Haldir needed to be sobered up. Fin could do it, provided they got home soon enough. The tall elf pressed his foot down harder on the accelerator.

"You know," he had to speak loudly to be heard over Haldir's dry heaving, "I think I'm starting to like that girl."

* * *

**Author's Note: I am so sorry for the long hiatus! It won't happen again. As always, reviews are sincerely appreciated, and flames will be used to make Rupert hurry up.**

**AiH**


	7. Smoothie Time!

**Disclaimer: I was going to say that I owned EVERYTHING, but then these guys in suits showed up and threatening to sue me. Not Sue me, sue me. I might be able to handle the former. The latter? Well, let's just say I ran.**

* * *

Sara woke to the sound of her apartment mates banging things in the kitchen. Muttering something about inconsiderate people and llamas, she rolled over and promptly fell off the couch onto the floor.

"Umgubular slashkilter," the girl groaned, picking herself up off the carpet.

"Good morning, Sara!" called one of her flat mates from the kitchen. The other two girls giggled.

"Mazel tov." Bleary-eyed, Sara wandered into the kitchen. Lynzey, a pale brunette, was busy mixing a large bowl of pancake batter. Jen and Gwyn, best friends since preschool, were still laughing as they sliced strawberries, bananas, and peaches. "What's all this for?" She plopped down on a kitchen chair and yawned. "What time is it?"

"It's our last-Saturday-before-finals-week breakfast," Gwyn explained. She dumped all the fruit slices in a blender and got a carton of vanilla yogurt out of the fridge.

"Pancakes and smoothies!" Jen followed her friend to the refrigerator. "Do you guys know if we have any bacon?" Although she was five foot three and a size two, nothing got between Jennifer and her bacon. The other three girls shook their heads. "Dang it."

Lynzey, who had somehow gotten herself appointed the unofficial "mom" of the apartment, turned to Sara with a slight frown. "Don't you have a paper to do today?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, why don't you go ahead and jump in the shower and get to work on it? We can handle breakfast. Right, gals?"

Jen and Gwyn hurried to assure her that yes, they could make breakfast, and of course Sara's paper was the important thing. Grinning, the nineteen-year-old allowed her friends to herd her into doing her homework.

After a quick shower, Sara sat down at her desk with her laptop, Norton's Anthology of English Literature, a dog-eared paperback copy of the Canterbury Tales, three different colors of highlighters, and a fresh pack of post-it notes. The finished product needed to be a ten-page paper complete with bibliography. Chewing the inside of her cheek, Sara debated about topic. Then she had it.

Aha! The Wife of Bath! The woman had had multiple husbands and was very rich. Plus, her brow was a span across – huge! Sara also thought she'd read the Wife of Bath's tale in some collection of Arthurian legends with Gawain in place of the knight.

Ideas flowing quickly now, the girl flipped open her laptop. Her fingers flew across the keyboard. Every now and then she paused just long enough to look up a quote or hunt down a critique in one of the many reference books strewn across the floor. When Gwyn came in with a tall glass full of smoothie, Sara was humming show tunes and had a page and a half finished already.

"Lynzey's been wondering where you were last night," she said quietly, setting the smoothie on the desk beside Norton's Anthology.

"Huh?" Sara looked up, confused, but didn't stop typing.

"Where were you last night?" Gwyn dropped all pretense of masking her own curiosity. "Jen says she saw you get out of a snazzy silver car last night – and there was at least one handsome guy in it."

Memories of yesterday came flooding back into Sara's head. She frowned slightly. When she'd woken up and fallen off the couch, she had just thought it was all a big dream, more vivid but nor more outlandish than most. Gwyn was staring at her, waiting for an explanation.

"I tried out this new restaurant. I met some guys, and we hung out." The girl shrugged casually. "You know how those things go."

"Uh huh." Gwyn did not say what both of them were thinking. She was a former high school cheerleader and current sorority pledge, and "those things" only happened to Gwyn every once in a while. They did _not_happen to girls like Sara, who for all her endearing qualities was simply not a man magnet. "So are you going to see him again?"

"Him? Who-him?"

"The guy you were with last night. Stop trying to be dense, Sara. You can't fool me."

"I'm not being dense." She was, of course, but admitting it would just lead to more questions. "Sorry, Gwyn, but I've got to get this paper written. Talk to you later?"

"Oh, you will," Gwyn promised with an air of finality. "I'll get it out of you eventually. Good luck with the paper." Smiling cheerfully, Gwyn vacated the room.

Brain whirring, Sara turned back to her paper. _Elves, bartenders, lembas bread, the Winchesters . . . It wasn't a dream? Jen saw me get dropped off by some guy? Holy hobgoblins . . . What the heck happened last night?_

Shaking her head like a wet dog, the girl tried to clear her mind. She had to focus! The Chaucer paper was due Monday morning at 9 o'clock. Sara needed to get the rough draft written today, at the very least. Worrying about last night could wait until she finished her paper.

All day long, Sara worked like a dervish. The girl took breaks only to grab a snack or a glass of water. Shortly before five, she closed her laptop and sat back. "Whewf." She was exhausted, both physically and mentally. All Sara wanted to do was flop on her bed, watch an episode of Wishbone on YouTube, and maybe microwave herself a Hot Pocket. Maybe. Leaning back in her chair, she closed her eyes, just for a moment.

* * *

"Sara! Sara!"

The girl jerked awake. Someone was pounding on her door, and the clock now said it was five-thirty. Oops. She must have taken a nap.

"Come in," Sara croaked groggily.

Jen burst into the room, eyes glowing with excitement. "Sara, there's this _gorgeous_ guy here to see you. I mean, on a scale of one to ten, he's a fifteen at least!"

Sara's stomach started falling down past her intestines. Soon it would be in her knees. "What?"

Frowning slightly, Jen eyed her apartment mate. "Have you been working on that paper all day? Gracious! Gwyn'll keep Handsome company, and I'll get you ready. Heavens knows you can't go out on a date looking like that."

"Date?" It came out as a weak gasp. "Jen, I don't even know who you're talking about."

"Tall blond guy. Fabulous eyes, great clothes. He's got good taste. Says his name's Hal. He mentioned something about going to dinner at Bernie's, whatever that is. So, yes, it's a date. Hmmm." She paused in front of Sara's closet and flicked through its contents quickly. "We'd better match your outfit to his – not color or anything," she added as Sara glared at her. "Just level of casualness and stuff…. Yes, I think this will work."

Pulling a few articles out of the closet, Jen set them on the bed. "Okay. You're going to put these on while I figure out makeup."

"Jen. I don't wear makeup."

"A guy like that? Frieda Kahlo would shave her unibrow for him. You're wearing makeup."

Sara didn't reply. She was too busy staring at the pile of clothes Jen had picked out. "What are these?"

Jennifer sighed. Sometimes Sara was utterly clueless. "These jeans," she picked them up and tossed them to Sara, "make your legs look great – plus they lend credence to the possibility of your actually having a butt. This flowy blue top – you wore it to Lynzey's 21st birthday, remember? – Anyway, it goes well with the jeans. And of course you wear the black tank under it. Now CHANGE."

Grumbling softly, Sara turned to the wall and changed. There would be no point in reminding Jen that 99% of the time she only wore t-shirts. A prospective law student who'd gotten her cosmetology certification on the side, Jen's word on fashion, hair, and makeup was law in the apartment. Lynzey cooked, Gwyn cozened everyone into early morning aerobics, Sara reminded them when it was time to clean, and Jen was the appearance enforcer. _No one_left the apartment without looking their best if Jen could help it, especially not when someone as handsome as "Hal" was picking them up.

As soon as Sara dressed, Jen descended on her with commands to "Hold still!" She expertly applied eye shadow, mascara, and lip-gloss. "Just one more second. Quit squirming, Sara! And ... done!" Jen took a step back, grinning from ear to ear. "I must say, Miss Gilley, you clean up well."

Sara glanced at herself in the mirror. She looked much more like one of Jen and Gwyn's set than herself. It was an odd feeling.

"Here." Jennifer shoved a can of hairspray in her hand. "Go spike your hair."

A minute later, hair spiked, boots on, Jen's final once-over passed, Sara was out in the hall and headed to the front door. She found Gwyn sitting on the couch in the living room next to Haldir. He looked up as she approached and smiled.

"Sara! How lovely to see you! Gwyn's been telling me some incredible stories about the university."

Gwyn flushed.

Haldir pretended not to notice. "Anyway, Sara, how do you feel about dinner at Bernie's?" Correctly interpreting her grin as acceptance, he stood and opened the front door for her. "It was nice to meet you, Gwyn, Jen."

"Nice to meet you, too. Have fun, Sara!" Gwyn stared at her friend purposefully with a gaze that plainly said "text me!"

Trying not to snicker at Gwyn's intensity, Sara followed Haldir out the door.

"I wanted to say thank you for helping my brothers find me last night and to apologize for my inexcusable conduct," he said sincerely, leading the way down the stairs and across the parking lot to a flashy blue car. "And to see how you're doing. I know absorbing everything can be a bit difficult."

Sara grinned. "Haven't been doing that much 'absorbing' lately, to be honest. Unless you count reading 'The Wife of Bath's Tale' six times in an eight hour period."

The elf winced. "Nasty business. Chaucer was a pleasant enough fellow, but some of his couplets…"

"You don't mean to say you actually knew him?"

"Of course! After all, where do you think he got the character of the Squire from?" Haldir preened unconsciously, misreading her disbelieving silence for one of awe.

"Right." Sara climbed into the car and buckled her seatbelt. "Remind me why we're going to Bernie's place?"

He turned the key in the ignition. "Fin wants to see you."

"Oh?" The girl smiled to herself. This could be interesting.

* * *

Haldir pulled up in front of the same café she'd stumbled into yesterday, but something was definitely off. The restaurant's painted sign no longer bore the legend "The Lucky Cat". Instead, it said "The Dancing Cat" and had a picture to match. Sara got out of the car awkwardly, still staring at the sign. It took her a moment to realize that Haldir had not accompanied her. Instead, he was still behind the driver's seat, not moving.

Sara frowned. "Hal?" she asked, opening the passenger door and leaning in. "You coming?"

"Best if I don't go in the 'Cat at present," he answered quietly. "You understand, don't you?" His eyes met hers. Was that an apology in their gray depths?

"Of course." The response was nearly involuntary.

"Thank you. You'll be okay, Sara. I promise. Orophin will be by later to check in on you. All right?"

She didn't get it. Fin wanted to see her; she was going to spend the evening with Fin. Why did Haldir sound almost apprehensive? "All right."

"Good. You'd better run on in, then." He smiled crookedly. "See you later."

"Later." Sara shut the car door and stepped back. She watched him drive away. Swallowing, she turned around to face the restaurant door, then went in.

The Dancing Cat was packed with customers, the majority of whom looked to be dressed for some sort of colonial convention. Finley saw her as soon as she came in. Within seconds, he finished his business and got over to her. Sara was still looking around in amazement. The décor was not at all what she had remembered.

"Sara!" Fin slipped an arm around her shoulder. He spoke softly so none of the patrons could hear. "Good to see you. Listen – we're packed to the gills. Mind donning a uniform and playing waitress?"

It was impossible to refuse that smile. "Sure."

"You're great. There's one on a stool behind the bar. Thank you so much!"

Still slightly confused, Sara hurried up to the bar. There was a russet brown dress, white apron, and matching mobcap laid out for her. _What the . . ._? She glanced out across the restaurant. Finley was dressed like everyone else, so he looked like he'd come out of an eighteenth-century novel. The bartender flitted from table to table, moving faster than she would have expected. Sara sighed. Apparently he did need help.

Ducking behind the bar, she scrambled to change. She slid the dress on over her tank and masked her spiky hair with the cap. Standing back up, Sara tied her apron and tucked her clothes behind a small barrel of beer.

"Oy! Wench! Get me rum!" A fifty-something man with small, greedy eyes was staring at her angrily. He wanted his alcohol, and he wanted it now.

"Like this." Suddenly Finley was there, showing her where everything was and what she needed to do. He placated the drunk and then sent her out across the restaurant.

Sara had never waitressed before. Okay, she'd never had a job before. Luckily, the majority of the customers were staggering drunk. As long as she kept the alcohol flowing, they wouldn't have cared if she was feeding them mud and pig slop. This was Bernie's cooking, though, and so of course it was excellent.

In retrospect, it was a blessing the 'Cat was so busy. At least six men in the first half hour behaved with appalling familiarity. They pinched Sara's bottom, tried to touch her bosom, and called her names she would have blushed to hear in a trashy film. If Sara hadn't had seven things to do at once, she would have given them a piece of her mind. As it were, it was all the girl could do to keep up with her work, let alone bawl someone out for sexual harassment. After the first hour, Sara stopped counting. She did her best to keep from presenting a target to the men and concentrated on doing her job.

When he thought she could handle the waitressing, Finley returned to his bar. Occasionally he came out to calm someone down. Twice he even threw a couple of the noisiest ones out into the street. Every time the door opened, the sound of shouting and fireworks and gunshots floated in on the hot evening air. The first time this happened, he watched Sara's head jerk up. She glanced around a couple of times, then a pinch on the rear made her focus on her work again.

Fin snorted and looked down at the glass he was polishing. Part of him felt guilty for talking her into this. Did she even realize what was going on yet? He thought she might. Sam and Dean had told him to keep an eye on her, and Bernie'd been feeling piratey. Finley smiled humorlessly. He'd done his best. And after all, what could be a safer place than Tortuga?

* * *

**A/N: Review?**


	8. More Alcohol

**Disclaimer: I regret to announce that all of my original ideas have been filched by a certain dreadlocked pirate captain. However, after I see his fourth installment tonight, I hope he will be willing to make a bargain and return them.**

* * *

Two hours later, the rush finally slowed down, and the 'Cat began to empty. Bernie stuck her head out of the kitchen. Her face was shiny and scarlet, and her already frizzy brown hair had reached nearly afro proportions.

"Fin!" she hollered. "Fin! Ley!" She caught sight of Sara. "Oh . . . hello." Bernie's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What are you doing here? You aren't supposed to be here. I thought you weren't one of _Them._ FINLEY!"

The few remaining customers turned to stare at the furious woman with great interest. It wasn't every day that you got to see a shouting match between a cook and her bartender, not even in Tortuga. They hadn't heard Fin yell yet, of course, but they were hopefully optimistic.

"What is it?" Fin glanced back and forth between his boss and a startled Sara.

"What is she doing here?"

"Erm…" Finley looked distinctly uncomfortable. "It's a long story."

Bernie bared her teeth in a truly terrifying snarl. When she spoke, however, her voice was pleasant, though strained. "Sara, would you be so kind as to wash some dishes for me? There's a pile of them in the sink."

All too relieved at this out, Sara mumbled a "yes, ma'am," and escaped into the kitchen. For a moment, she thought she was seeing double. On the surface, the kitchen looked clean but very, very antiquated. When she squinted, though, she caught a few glimpses of yesterday's gleaming industrial kitchen. Sara shook her head and blinked until all she saw was the top vision. She started in on the humongous pile of dishes in the wooden sink just as Bernie decided to let loose.

"Finley James Langton! What the devil do you think you're doing, asking her here?"

Sara turned the water down a little bit so she could eavesdrop.

"I…" –

"No, Fin! Tonight was my night. And now you bring some teenager in off the street! Why? I don't give a flip if she met Hal – heck, she can date him, if he likes her, for all I care. But here? Now? You have to have the worst sense of timing of anyone I've ever met. I've got more than half a mind to fire you."

"Bern, this wasn't my idea. Sam and Dean – you know the Winchesters. Well, someone killed their witness last night."

"So they think it's this girl and ask you to babysit her? Or worse, hold her till they get here? I bet she doesn't even know, does she? You and those Winchester boys . . . You're despicable." Finley must have opened his mouth to say something, for she went on all in a rush, "Don't you _dare_ say she asked for this. _No one_ except for a bloody 'Sue asks for this."

"Bernie – "

"If there was any sort of legal system that had jurisdiction over the 'Cat, you'd be guilty of kidnapping. As it is, I don't want to talk to you the rest of the night. Send Jack in when he gets here."

With a great slamming of doors, Bernie stormed into the kitchen. "Listening, were you?"

Sara didn't bother to deny it. She hadn't gotten a single dish washed.

"Good girl. Most people are too respectable to eavesdrop, think it's beneath them. Glad you're somewhat sensible." Bernie snapped her fingers, and the kitchen instantly changed to gorgeous and clean and full of lovely laborsaving appliances. "We'll just stick everything in the dishwasher. You rinse, I'll load. Deal?"

"Yeah." Sara was dying of curiosity. She had so many questions – and was half-afraid she could guess the answers. "Jack?"

"Captain."

"Sparrow or Harkness?"

Bernie flashed her a calculating look. "I like the way you think, girl. Sparrow. I haven't seen Jack in an age and a half."

"We're in Tortuga, aren't we?"

Her hands full of silverware, the cook didn't answer until she had pigeonholed everything neatly into its slot. She dried her hands on her apron. "Yes."

"How?" Sara frowned in concentration as she scrubbed a nasty congealed brown mess on one of the wooden plates.

"Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies. Well, I might. If I can think of a really good lie."

Sara had to grin. Bernie was starting to grow on her. "So we're in Tortuga Dean and Sam Winchester suspect me of something, you have a liaison with Cap'n Jack Sparrow, and Finley is a reprobate blackguard. Stat?"

The older woman returned her grin. "Stat. Fin's being an idiot aside, I'm starting to think I may keep you after all."

"What?"

"How would you feel about working here part time? Just a few evenings a week. Not Sundays. And generally not Tortuga."

"Are you serious?" This was great! Sara had actually been job-hunting the day she met Finley.

"As the plague."

Impulsively, the teenager threw her arms around Bernie. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"

"Don't thank me yet," she replied dryly. "You still don't know everything."

Sara shot her a disturbed glance but let it pass. The women worked hard to clean the messy kitchen. It had become quite abominable during the dinner rush. At length, a loud, slightly slurred voice called Bernie's name.

"Do I look all right?" The cook actually blushed as she nervously straightened her dress.

"Great. Are you and Jack …?"

Bernie blushed even deeper. "It's an on-and-off thing. Nothing serious. Well, I'll be seeing you. If you feel up to talking to Fin, tell him I'll see him tomorrow. I can find my way home by myself."

"Got it. Have fun!"

The grin on the other woman's face was positively indecent. She chuckled throatily, "Oh, I plan to," and swept from the kitchen.

It only took fifteen minutes for Sara to run out of things to tidy up. Before Bernie left, the two of them had managed to wash all the dishes and both sweep and mop the floor. Now all Sara had to do was unload the industrial-sized dishwasher when it finally finished up – and that would be another half hour at least. With a sigh, she wiped her hands on her apron and went out into the front room.

"Sara!" Finley glanced up when she entered. Was it her imagination, or was that a guilty look on his face? "How're you feeling?"

She ignored this. "Two questions. One, Sam and Dean, huh? Two, when are we getting out of Tortuga? Not that I don't enjoy the ambience, but the air's rather stuffy, and I kind of miss my jeans."

"We're not in Tortuga anymore," he answered slowly. "Look around you."

The girl cast her eyes about the room. All of a sudden it looked exactly like her memories of yesterday. She ran to the front door and opened it onto a dark city street with lots of traffic and a stoplight two blocks away. "Whoa. Trippy." She looked back at Finley. "I'm changing clothes now."

He shrugged. "Be my guest."

"Thanks." Sara grabbed her things from behind the bar and ducked into the newly reappeared women's restroom to change. "Here you go," she said, handing over the barmaid outfit. Reflecting back on Jen's excitement at the beginning of the evening, she sighed. It was all rather pointless, really.

"Have a stool?"

"Sure." Feeling defeated, Sara plopped down next to Finley and rested her elbows on the bar. "So . . ."

"You look nice."

Finley's compliment earned him a dirty look. In the chaos of the busy tavern full of hot, smelly bodies, the majority of Sara's makeup had been sweated off. Her once spiky hair now sagged limply in surrender. The girl was a far cry from looking her best – and she knew it. Nor did she feel like listening to empty flattery.

"So . . . the Winchesters. What is it they suspect me of?"

"If you were eavesdropping – yes, I can see you were. Well, then, you already know that their key witness was killed.

"Witness? What are they trying to do, put together a case? They aren't lawyers."

"That doesn't mean they don't need evidence!" he snapped back. "Dean and Sam are doing their best to save lives. The only eyewitness to a terrible tragedy was murdered last night. They're just checking all their bases."

With great difficulty, the teenager kept from shouting that a murdered witness in no way justified deception and kidnapping. Instead, she opted for a less openly oppositional tact. "Can I leave, then?"

Fin sighed regretfully. "Not until they get here and ask you a few questions."

As a rule, Sara never swore – in English, anyway. Furious, she dropped a phrase or two in Khudzul that she'd picked up from Rumil the night previous. Before a shocked Finley could recover, the door opened with the chime of a bell. Orophin strode in, handsome as ever. He hadn't even taken his coat off when Sara exploded with complaints about the bartender's behavior.

"So can you please take me home?" she closed, almost begging. "I don't like this place anymore. I want to go home, Orophin."

The blue-eyed elf looked at her sadly. "And I'd love to take you there. But if you don't talk to them tonight, they'll just follow you and hunt you down some other time."

Sara shivered at his use of the word "hunt". Finley made as if to put his arm around her, then reconsidered. Orophin pretended not to notice.

"And anyway," the elf went on," I do not think you would be able to hide from them like we can. I know this 'conversation' is going to be unpleasant, but at least this way I can be here and try to . . . smooth things over."

Just then, the door banged opened, and the tall Winchester brothers invaded the 'Cat.

"That so, Pointy Ear?" taunted Dean. There were tight lines around his mouth, and his clothes had definitely been slept in. He moved quickly across the room and stepped behind the bar. Taking Sara firmly by the biceps, he scrutinized her closely. "All right, little missy. Start talking. What did you do last night?"

She recited the events of the night before, from Arby's to the mad search for Haldir to passing out on her couch, never taking her eyes from his. Sara well knew the importance of eye contact.

When she finished, Dean shook her. "Are you sure that's what happened?"

"Hey!" Finley got to his feet, and Orophin took a step closer to the bar. "Cut it out, Dean, or I'll have to throw you out. You saw her yesterday afternoon – you know she can't have done it. She doesn't have the teeth for it."

What did teeth have to do with anything? Shouldn't he have said that she didn't have the _stomach_ for it? Whatever "it" was? Sara cleared her head of these linguistic complexities in time to catch Sam and Dean exchanging significant looks.

"That doesn't mean she didn't know about it," Sam broke in. "Or she could have been an accomplice," he added uncomfortably.

Orophin snorted.

Dean turned back to Sara and stared deeply into her eyes. "She's telling the truth," he announced after another minute. "She didn't do it." The hunter released her arms, rubbing them for a moment so they wouldn't bruise. "Sorry about that. Just had to make sure it wasn't you."

Sara touched her arm gingerly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Orophin and Finley relax. Apparently the danger had passed. She glanced up at Dean, who was looking at her ruefully.

"I am sorry," he repeated. "Just had to be sure."

"Sure of what?" They weren't getting off that easy. Not after interrogating her.

"That you didn't help kill Peter."

Dean glared at his brother for dropping a name." Sammy . . ."

"What? She didn't do it. We can tell her."

"Teeth. Fin said something about teeth. He said I didn't have the _teeth_ for it. Why teeth?"

The older Winchester sighed, admitting defeat. "Not teeth. Fangs. Peter was killed by a vampire.

* * *

**A/N: Anybody see that one coming? I didn't. Well... not until ten minutes before I wrote it, anyway. Please review? It brightens my day, and constructive criticism helps make me a better writer - a definite plus for everyone!**

**AiH**


	9. Even More Alcohol

**Disclaimer: Having seen the fourth pirates and decided that Jack has lost a significant amount of his Jack-ness, I managed to send Bernie to seduce him and Finley to kick his trash, and now my original material is back! As is my ability to write ridiculously long run-on sentences. Unfortunately, I still do not own anything from LotR or Supernatural or anything else.**

**Author's Note: I seem to have left several of you with the misunderstanding that I follow Doctor Who. I have a few friends who are addicted, so I've picked up a couple of things, but I've never actually seen an entire episode. I shall be checking Netflix and Hulu in an effort to ameliorate this deplorable deficiency. And now on to the story!**

* * *

"Vampires? Not . . . not sparkly vampires?"

Dean looked absolutely revolted. "G-d, no. Where did you get that awful idea?"

Sam sniggered. "Have you been reading Stephenie Meyer, Sara?"

"I have," Finley admitted freely. "Hey, you've got to keep up with the changing canon when you work in a place like this."

Everyone nodded in silent acknowledgement of Bernie's rather varied clientele.

"Now that we're all on the same side – we are all on the same side, right?" Sara asked almost skeptically, glancing back and forth between Finley, Orophin, and the Winchesters.

Oddly enough, it was Orophin who answered her. "For the moment, I think so. No one likes vampires."

"Are there vampires in Middle-earth?"

The elf sighed. "There didn't used to be. Rumil likes to argue that Smeagol – the Gollum creature – was what first inspired the legends, but somehow I think not."

"What was it, then?" The girl was far too interested in this conversation to notice the weird looks Sam and Dean were giving her.

Orophin frowned, struggling to find a way to phrase this properly. "You know of ley lines and nodes and things like that? No, probably not. You probably don't read Mercedes Lackey. Well, then, think of a crossroad, if you will. Or the place where hundreds of tiny streams join together to form a river. That center, that point of joining, well, that's like the 'Cat."

"The Lucky Cat or The Dancing Cat?" Sara demanded suspiciously.

Finley grinned. "The adjectives may change, but the 'Cat's always the same. Okay," he added, catching Sara's skeptical look, "sometimes the furnishings and food change, too. But it's still the 'Cat."

"So you see, Sara, the 'Cat is the place where all these realms, worlds, realities – take your pick, it's the place where they all come together. The node, as it were. And sometimes," Orophin went on, looking strangely sad, "sometimes there can be a bit of backwash."

"Nice word."

He glared at Dean. "I'd like to see you pick a better one, _hunter_."

"Easy, gentlemen." The bartender stepped in again to declare peace. "Sam, do you mind killing the 'Open' light? It's almost ten. Bernie's out, so we can go ahead and close." While Sam walked over to the door to turn off the sign, Fin surveyed the rest of his group. "Dean, Orophin, Sara, go ahead and have a seat." He gestured to one of the smaller, round tables. It had five chairs exactly. "Beer for the boys, wine for Orophin, Dr. Pepper for the minor?"

The others nodded in acquiescence. Fin jumped over the bar and sat down between Orophin and Dean. He passed drinks around the circle. "Everybody good? Great."

Twisting the cap off her soda pop, Sara resumed her earlier line of questioning. "So if this 'backwash' exists, isn't it a bad thing? I mean, vampires in Middle-earth, who knows what else in our world . . . it doesn't sound pretty."

"It isn't pretty. Last year I think we got a Mumakil. Right, Dean?"

His brother shuddered. "That giant elephant thing? Yeah, that was . . ." he glanced at Sara and chose a different word, "bad."

After taking a delicate sip from his wine bottle, Orophin leaned forward. "Sara, I need to clarify something. This _is_ Middle-earth. My world is now a part of your world, of their world." He nodded at the Winchesters. "The 'Cat just lets us see each other, that's all. It is the place where legends walk in the daylight."

Dean elbowed Sam. "What did I tell you, little brother? We _are_ legends."

Not entirely convinced, Sara turned to the hunters. "What do you think about all this?"

Sam smiled at her, humor in his green eyes. "Well, we aren't entirely sure that Bernie isn't some kind of Trickster."

"This place is weird," Dean said fervently. "And not our kind of weird. Anyway, before you got us all discussing this supernatural mumbo jumbo, our witness got killed by a vampire."

"Just one?"

The older Winchester grinned at Finley. "All the evidence points that way, yeah. Two puncture wounds on the left side of his neck, completely drained of blood, no sign of a struggle."

"Vamp pretending to be a prostitute? Get the John all nice and tingly, then it's dinnertime? What?" Sara added when everyone looked at her as if she'd suddenly grown an extra head. "What? Is it really that unlikely?"

"Where do you get girls like this, Fin? From the way Sammy used to talk, I thought college girls were all about looks and degrees and marriage and having a normal life."

Sara shrugged. " I read a lot. And normal life can be oppressively boring."

Recovering from shock, Finley answered first her question, then Dean's. "I suppose it isn't that improbable. Dean, I can't help it. It's this place. It attracts them."

"At least she isn't like Lisa Annemarie Felicia Trina Winchester the third. You know, the chick who showed up her and claimed she was our long lost younger sister? You remember, don't you, Orophin? I think you were there – Bernie's big Christmas party two years ago."

Remembering, the elf winced violently. "How could I forget? She insisted on using her tongue to ensure my brothers and I were not vampires."

While Sara gaped in mute horror, Fin began massaging his temples and Dean chuckled weakly.

"And then the tall one – what's his name?"

"Rumil," Orophin muttered through gritted teeth, his eyes shut tight against the memory.

"Right. Then Rumil called Bernie out of the kitchen to help. I don't think I've ever seen anyone so angry."

"She was a terror to work with for the next month and a half, I can promise you that," the bartender commented dryly.

"Can we not talk about this?" Orophin requested, not looking at any of the others. "That was not a good day, and I would very much prefer not to discuss it. I've spent enough on therapy as it is."

Sara agreed. A change of topic was definitely needed. She still didn't know anything about this witness except that his name was Peter and he had been killed by someone with pointy teeth and a taste for O pos. Unless the guy was B neg? The girl felt woefully uninformed.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Now your guy's dead, can you tell me more about why you're in town?"

Pursing his lips, Dean thought for a moment before answering her. He exchanged looks with Sam, then sighed. "Yeah, I guess we can."

The story came out slowly with occasional prompts from Sam. The Winchesters had been halfway across the country in Indiana "or one of those other Midwestern states" when they received a message from an old friend of their father's, a retired hunter named Peter.

"Dad's gone," Dean said at this point, "and he isn't coming back."

"So whenever we get the chance to help someone who knew Dad, we do it," Sam finished simply.

So they had driven a thousand miles as quickly as the Impala could make it. Yesterday morning they'd hooked up with Peter.

"He wasn't that old. Mid-fifties, maybe. Big, powerful guy. He was worried, so worried that you couldn't be sure if he was talking sense or not."

"What was he worried about?" Sara asked gently.

Dean didn't know. Something was coming, Peter had said. Something Big and Nasty and Evil, capital letters and all. Since they were in town, Sam suggested they check in at the 'Cat. If anyone had the connections to know about the worst, most otherworldly stuff going on out there, it would be Bernie and Fin.

"You can't get to be that good of a cook without knowing something of true Evil," Sam pointed out.

And that was why they'd put in an appearance at The Lucky Cat the day before, hoping Finley would know someone who could help them. Hence the wild goose chase around town looking for information. The Winchesters had spent all of today checking weather reports, researching local legends, and even locating the closest soothsayer in an effort to figure out what was coming. But in the end, it was all useless.

"We go to check up on Peter two hours ago, and he's dead." Dean's voice was filled with bitterness and defeat. "Obvious signs of vampire activity. Pete was smarter than that! It'd have taken way more than a run of the mill loner to take him down."

Equally discouraged, Sam exhaled slowly. "So, I guess we do know one thing. There's definite vampire involvement – and a powerful one at that."

The Winchesters slumped back in their chairs. Relating the story had refreshed their sense of failure and dread. Understanding this, Finley stood up and pulled two more beers out of the fridge. He handed one to each brother.

"We'll get them," he promised quietly. "I knew Peter. Bernie dated him a few years ago. He was a good man."

Who hadn't Bernie dated? Sara was starting to wonder. It must have shown on her face, for Orophin laughed softly.

"Not Legolas or Aragorn or Rumil or me."

"Or me." Sam realized what was going on.

His older brother snickered. "Yeah, but that's because she saw me and didn't want to miss out."

"I'm glad Bernie's only my cousin. If she was my sister, Dean, I'd have to take you out."

"You'd lose."

"Probably," Fin agreed easily. "That's why I'm thankful we're just cousins."

Sara shook her head. Men. She was never going to understand them. And she was starting to wonder if it was worth the effort to try.

After slight further discussion of the vampire problem, it was decided to leave it be until after midnight. The five of them pushed their chairs back and set their feet on the table. Sara listened while the guys enjoyed a general bull session. Dean, Finley, and Sam traded tall tales of girls they'd dated and cars they'd driven. When Fin finally cut off the alcohol, Orophin entertained everyone with dark stories of Moria and Mirkwood. The horrors that the Winchesters encountered on a daily basis were too new, too fresh, too real to be discussed casually. Orophin's were the nightmares of an age long since past. Although the elf's voice was full of sadness, the passage of time made his tales seem much more safe.

Haldir and Rumil walked in at a quarter past eleven with a bag of apples, which they promptly handed out. Sara took one gratefully, surprised by the sudden rumbling of her stomach.

"Everything work out okay?" Haldir asked sheepishly, pulling up a stool next to her.

The girl fought the urge to laugh. A sheepish elf was quite the thing. "As you see."

"Swapping scary stories without me?" Rumil took a seat between his brothers, grinning.

"Nah, just some old fairy tales."

Orophin shot Dean a scalding look. The history of Middle-earth was _not_ comprised of a series of "old fairy tales". Even if he had been embellishing a teeny bit. Since everyone was enjoying themselves, however, the elf let it pass.

"Did you tell them about Glorfindel and his first Balrog?" Haldir wondered.

"Not just yet. Would you like to tell it, Hal? You know it better than I do."

Haldir glowed with smugness at this praise. His brothers very rarely let him tell stories, preferring to tag-team their way through them.

"Before we start another story, can we order a pizza?" Dean glanced down at the growing pile of apple cores on the floor beneath his chair. "Sam and I kinda forgot dinner."

Sam's stomach growled loudly in agreement. "Maybe make it a couple of pizzas?"

Finley laughed. "I thought you'd never ask. I've been starving for an hour. Bernie hates ordering out, so of course pizza sounds great. Haldir? Rumil? Orophin?"

"You know us, Fin," Rumil smirked. "We can always eat."

"Sara?"

"I'm totally game."

"Excellent." Finley dug his cell phone out of his pocket and placed the order. Fifteen minutes later, a car pulled up outside the 'Cat, and the bartender rushed out to pay and collect the pizza. "Everybody pony up! It'll be five bucks apiece (thank you, Little Caesar's). Sam, Sara, feet down!" Fin set the six pizza boxes on top of the table. It was attacked immediately. When everyone had settled back in their chairs, plates piled with pizza, he nodded in satisfaction. "All right, Hal. Tell us about Glorfindel."

* * *

**A/N: Review?**


	10. In Which Nothing is Consumed

**Disclaimer: My muse returned today. Unfortunately, it brought no ownership rights with it.**

* * *

Before he could really begin to tell his story, Haldir had to provide some background information first. The great tales of Middle-earth could never begin with "Once upon a time." There was too much history. When you lived forever unless cut down early by violence or dehabilitating despair, your decisions were influenced by far more than the events of yesterday. The fall of Gondolin had been terrible, and Haldir wanted the Winchesters to understand the full extent of its horror and Glorfindel's heroism. He told of Beleriand, the desperate battles against Morgoth, the curse placed upon Húrin. Haldir spoke of dissent and intrigue, the troubles over the hand of Idril Celebrindal, and how Maeglin's treachery led to the city's downfall. For once his brothers refrained from interrupting.

Sara's eyes drifted shut as she listened to the elf, allowing him to draw her slowly into another world. Haldir smiled to himself and went on. He described the cold, harsh pass of Cirith Thoronath and of the ambush that awaited Gondolin's few survivors.

"Not simply cruel-eyed, claw-fingered, filthy-hearted Orcs, but a Balrog as well. Their plight was dreadful, for Tuor and Idril led a party full of women and children and wounded warriors. But Glorfindel, chief of the House of the Golden Flower, challenged the Balrog, and they dueled. High up on a pinnacle of rock they fought, the yellow-haired elf lord and the demon of fire and stone. Glorfindel fought valiantly, but both he and the Balrog fell to dreadful ruin in the abyss."

"That's it? That's your great story? He died?" Dean leaned back in his chair. "Dude, I could have written a better story in my sleep."

"That is not all," Haldir snapped, glaring at the human. "Thorondor, Lord of the Eagles, and his people came to their aid. They drove the Orcs to their deaths and gave Glorfindel a fitting burial."

"Still think it's a crappy story."

"Yes, well, I could hardly tell it to you the way I heard it. Glorfindel tends to embroider tales of his former exploits beyond the believable."

"Wait . . . I thought Glorfindel died." Sam had the feeling he'd missed something important.

Haldir smirked at the Winchesters. "That's the thing about elves, you know," he remarked nonchalantly. "We come back"

"Except Feänor," Rumil interjected.

His brother frowned. "Feänor doesn't count."

Dean remembered that name from one of Orophin's earlier stories. "Feänor, that's the angry guy who made the jewels, right?"

The tall elf sighed. "In a nutshell. Honestly, Hal, when it comes to Balrog stories, I prefer the one of Ecthelion and Gothmog."

"How does that one end?" Sam asked curiously.

"Same way." Rumil looked disheartened. "They both die."

Finley had been sitting back and listening. He spoke up now. "Gentlemen, I believe our lady friend has fallen asleep," he pointed out quietly.

The Winchester brothers exchanged glances.

"Good. I didn't want to say this in front of the girl, but Sammy and I want her out of this vampire business. And don't bother saying you don't, Fin. I know you better. And we all know how dangerous this vamp thing is going to be."

"She has finals week starting Monday," Haldir added softly. "Her roommate said something earlier this evening."

Sam thought back to his own college days. "Sara only met us yesterday. We don't want to screw up her GPA over some vamp problem."

The bartender nodded thoughtfully. "Okay. All in favor of us taking Sara home and leaving her there?" Everyone raised a hand, including Finley himself. "Motion carries. All right, now who'll do the dirty work?"

"I've already been bad guy once today," Haldir said ruefully. "I am not sure I can do it again so soon."

"Besides, if she wakes up and begs Hal to let her stay, he'll cave. No, we'll leave that to you, Finley."

"We will put in a call to Rupert tomorrow morning," Orophin promised. "See if he knows anything about that 'Something Bad' that Peter was worried about."

"Thanks." Dean managed a half smile for the elf. "Fin, you in for the hunt?"

"Yeah."

"Then you can come with Sam and me. We'll drop Sara off on our way to catch us some vamps."

"All right. Let's go, then."

"Works for me. Come on, Sam."

Men and elves got to their feet. Rumil and Orophin disposed of the pizza boxes and alcohol bottles while Finley dug behind the bar for a battered black address book. Then the elves slipped out the front door into the night. Vampires were definitely not their thing. Since Haldir's breakup with Bernice, they had been trying even harder than usual to mind their own business.

Dean watched them go, frowning slightly. "Hey, Sam, you drive. Just this once." He tossed his younger brother the keys. "I'll carry her." Bending over, the man lifted Sara out of her chair. One arm wrapped around her back, the other under her knees, he held the girl easily. She was lighter than he'd expected.

The black address book clasped in his hand triumphantly, Fin hopped over the bar. "I could have done that, Dean."

Head cocked to the side, one eyebrow lifted, Dean refrained from commenting. His face said it all.

"It's not what you're thinking."

"Sure, it's not." Dean grinned, not believing a word Fin said.

Sam interrupted before they all drowned in a sea of innuendo. "We'd better get moving before Sara wakes up."

They hurried out the door. Fin paused to lock it carefully, then joined the others at the car. While Sam slid into the driver's seat and started the Impala, Dean gently set Sara down in the back.

"Drive fast, Sam. We don't have much time."

For once obeying his brother's orders without complaint, Sam floored it. He followed Finley's directions to Sara's apartment complex.

"Which number is it, Fin?"

"Twenty-three, I think."

The Impala pulled up outside number twenty-three, and Dean made to get out of the car.

"Wait. I think we should leave her a note."

Dean snorted. "What? 'Don't try to find us'?"

"Nah." Finley shook his head. "Just something telling her not to worry."

Now it was Sam's turn to snort. "She'll do that anyway, Fin. If you want to write something, do it fast, or she's going to wake up."

Each of them scribbled something down on the same old Subway napkin. Fin tucked it into Sara's pocket, then Dean gathered her back into his arms and lifted her out of the car. He carried the girl up the steps to her apartment, wondering what it was about her that had so obviously gotten under his friend's skin.

"I hope you're worth it," he muttered under his breath. "And I hope you've got the sense to stay out of this."

Sighing, the hunter knocked on Sara's apartment door. Dean felt rather ridiculous. Then the humor of the situation struck him, and he had to crack a grin.

"Hey . . . oh." The petite blonde at the door looked at him in great confusion. This guy, while undeniably hott, was not the same person her roommate had gone on a date with. And why was Sara passed out in this guy's arms? Jennifer gasped as her suspicious mind cast about for an explanation. Had Sara been _binge drinking_?

Dean kept from snickering with great difficulty. The girl who'd answered the door looked as if she'd been hit on the head with a two-by-four. "She's had a long night," he said casually, nodding down at the girl in his arms. "I don't really want to wake her up. So . . . do you mind if I come in?"

"Of course not," Jen replied automatically. She tried valiantly to recover from the shock of Sara and this edgy, hott guy who seemed somehow familiar. Maybe Gwyn or Lynzey knew him? "Come on in. Sara's room is just down the hall, last door on the right."

Jen instantly flushed. Why had she said that? Sara never had boys in her room, let alone rugged, attractive men. The hott stranger seemed to take it all in stride, however. He stepped over the threshold, still carrying Sara bridal style, and made his way down the hallway.

The hunter's amusement kept growing by the second, and it was all he could do to hold it in. Sara was either a very deep sleep or a great actress; she didn't crack an eyelid, even when her other two roommates came out into the hall and gaped blankly at Dean with wide eyes. He turned into the last bedroom and laid the girl out on the bed. After glancing around the room, Dean turned back to her and nearly jumped.

Sara had opened one eye and was staring at him quite steadily. Very aware of the open door behind him, Dean jerked his head at it in warning. He pointed to the girl's pocket and mouthed the word "Note". Now Sara opened the other eye. She pulled out the note and read it quickly with a grimace.

"Not fair," she mumbled quietly, figuring her roommates were all lurking out of sight of the doorway, eavesdropping.

Dean fixed her with a hard stare, his grin gone. "It's not about being fair," he answered just as quietly. "It's about no one else dying."

"But . . . But I can't not know what's going on."

He leaned forward and ruffled her spiky hair. "When we know something, I'll tell you, all right?" he whispered into her ear. "Now go to sleep."

She nodded, accepting it but hating it all the same.

"Good." Then in a louder voice so that her roommates would definitely hear and have something to gossip about, he continued, "Thanks for tonight. I had the time of my life." Dean winked at Sara, then turned on his heel and left the room.

Sara closed her eyes as soon as he was gone. She held perfectly still, listening intently as Jen, Gwyn, and Lynzey all poked their heads in. They whispered to each other for a moment, then turned her light off and shut the door. Sara grinned to herself, kicked her shoes off, and flopped onto her other side. In minutes, she was asleep.

* * *

"That took a while," Fin said flatly when Dean at last returned to the car.

"Aw, you jealous?" Dean climbed into the backseat and stretched out, smirking. "Don't worry, Fin. I didn't do anything. You should have seen the looks on those other girls' faces, though. Guess our girl doesn't get out that much." He didn't bother mentioning his promise to keep her informed, partially because he had yet to decide if he was going to keep it.

"_Our_ girl?" Sam turned back out onto the main road. "Why the sudden interest, Dean? She isn't your type."

"But she is Finley's."

Fin growled. "Dean . . ."

"You're only what, ten years older than she is? That's not robbing the cradle at all."

"Dean!"

"What?"

"Stop being a jerk. Fin's trying to help us. . . So, Fin, what kind of vampires do you think we're after?" Sam changed the subject before things could get too unpleasant. Besides, they legitimately needed Finley's help. Sure, the Winchesters could handle monsters and demons and ghosts and every other kind of nasty supernatural creature, but when it came to this town, where Bernie's restaurant made all the rules go funky. . . Fin was a definite asset.

Reluctantly, Fin quit glaring at Dean, who still had a smirk plastered across his face. "That depends," he said slowly. "Depends on which canon has been running around lately."

"Not Twilight vampires?" A highly unpleasant question, but one that had to be asked nonetheless.

"Havens, no. They don't dare come near here. Bernie hates them, as do some of the local vamps, I believe. There've been rumors of some 'Interview with a Vampire' type activity, and we had the 'Peeps' virus last Fourth of July . . ." Finley thought hard. "It's unlikely to have anything to do with Dracula – he and Bernie get along famously, even if I do make a crappy Renfield. It might be some Amelia Atwater-Rhodes type vamps, but they're mostly thrill-seekers. This doesn't have their 'exotic' touch, either, if you know what I mean."

Sam let him think out loud. Having been faced with the reality of the "things that go bump in the night" at a young age, he hadn't read half the monster fiction books that Fin had. He recognized Dracula, but that was about it.

Finley continued to ramble. "There are so many cheesy vampire flicks that it's just pointless to list them all. If I had to commit myself, I'd guess that your vampire is pretty standard. No sunlight, stakes are a go, so is fire – and probably decapitation. Not so sure about garlic. It always seemed kinda ridiculous to me. Coffins are definitely out. But this is all speculation. If you want exact details, I'd go as the expert."

"Expert?"

The bartender nodded. "There's a Slayer in town."

"Slayer?" Sam wrinkled his forehead in confusion.

"Hell, no," Dean swore, paying attention at last. "No Slayers."

"What's a Slayer?"

"Hott chick, thinks she's the one girl in the world called to take on the vampires and all other types of Evil. Well, it used to be one. I heard this witch went crazy with some magical scythe, and now there's thousands." Dean sounded thoroughly depressed.

"Are they all good looking?"

"I don't know about all of them, but the one I met definitely was. She had some serious issues, though."

Having finally decided to forgive Dean, Fin smiled sardonically. "Hunters, Slayers, you've all got issues. So do you want to see her or not?"

"Slayer . . ." Sam was slowly making a pop culture connection. "Not Buffy the Vampire Slayer?"

"And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the kid who went to Stanford."

Finley had to grin at that one. "Not Buffy, no. We aren't quite Hellmouthy enough to get Buffy. But one of her kind, yes. The Slayer in town's had a lot of . . . experience."

"Can she help us find who killed Peter?" That was all Sam cared about, really. "She kills vampires, but can she track them?"

"She knows more about the vampires in this town than anyone else. If one of the locals killed Pete, the Slayer will be able to find out who it was."

"Locals?"

"It's a big town, Dean. We may not have a Hellmouth, but with the 'Cat and all, a lot goes on."

"What's a Hellmouth?" Sam asked, thinking he already knew the answer.

"Portal to Hell."

Yep. He'd been right.

Dean leaned forward slightly in his seat. "Hey, Fin, what's this Slayer's name?" He was hoping violently it wasn't the one he'd met before. That encounter had _not_ ended well.

Fin looked at him curiously, as if he guessed Dean's thoughts. "Faith. Why?"

"D-mn." Dean knew her.

* * *

**Author's Note: I've got a few questions for you, dear reader. Would you like to know what was in the note Fin and the Winchesters left Sara? Do you like the new added fandom? Also, I've been thinking about switching this story to the Crossover section, since it isn't strictly LotR, but I'm not a hundred percent sure where I'd put it yet. Drop me a line or two, and let me know what you think. **

**Until next time,  
****AiH**


	11. Blood & Orange Juice

**Disclaimer: Everything and everyone I'm using here belong to Fox, Joss Whedon, Warner Brothers, and last but never, ever least, J.R.R. Tolkien.**

**Author's Note: This story has now been moved to the Lord of the Rings/Supernatural Crossover section. Also, I thought we'd pick back up with Sam, Dean, and Fin to meet this Faith chick, and then check back in with Sara.**

* * *

Finley and the Winchesters pulled up outside a comfortable-looking, two-story brick house in one of the better parts of town. Sam parked on the curb, and they walked up a driveway lined with azalea bushes.

"Nice place," Sam observed.

Hands in his pockets, Dean snorted. He _really_ didn't feel like asking this Slayer for help, given how their last little tête-à-tête had ended. "It's not bad," he admitted grudgingly, and then, "Looks like she's moved up in the world."

"How exactly did you meet her again, Dean?"

"Ah, Sammy, that's a story for another time."

"Hush." They had reached the front porch now. Finley glanced over his shoulder at the Winchesters with a wry smile. "Faith can be a wee bit temperamental, so everybody be on their best behavior, all right?" He looked especially hard at Dean. "Here goes nothing."

Inhaling deeply, Fin turned back to the front door and squared his shoulders. He knocked twice loudly.

For a moment, no one answered. Then they heard the thudding run of a pair of heavy boots, and the porch light turned on. With a slight creak, the front door opened to reveal a head of dark hair and a pair of suspicious brown eyes. Suspicion slowly changed to surprise as the eyes' owner recognized Fin. The door opened further, and a slender woman stepped out onto the porch.

She was probably in her late twenties, Sam figured. About Dean and Fin's age or maybe a little older. The woman wore black leather pants over heeled platform boots. A short-sleeved purple shirt bared the thorny tattoo on her right bicep. She had on smoky eye shadow, big mascara, and a pale red lipstick. With her wavy dark brown hair and rather excellent figure, she kind of looked like the lead singer from some rock band. No wonder Dean thought she was hott.

The hott girl – could you call someone who was nearly thirty a girl? But she looked like a girl, and the way she was regarding Fin now definitely had something of the coquette in it. The girl, then, had cocked her head to one side as she grinned up at Finley.

"Hey, Fin. Long time no see. Have to admit, I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about us."

Us? Sam and Dean exchanged worried looks. Us? There were more of these Slayers in the house?

"Faith." Finley grinned back. "I wish I could say this is just a social call, but we need your help."

"We?" Faith frowned slightly. She took her eyes off Fin and surveyed the Winchesters. Sam was startled by the intensity of her gaze. Dean swallowed uncomfortably, just waiting for her eyes to reach him. The Slayer looked Dean up and down, brow wrinkled in thought as if wondering where to place him. Aha! She had it. "Well, well. Albuquerque."

"Albuquerque?" Sam whispered to his brother.

"It's the place we met," Dean growled through gritted teeth.

"And I'm the one that got away. Isn't that right, ladies man?"

"Dean?"

Faith's eyes swept back to the younger Winchester. "You must be Sam. You know how your brother likes to love 'em and leave 'em? I left first."

Now wonder Dean hadn't wanted to track her down. Sam could just imagine his older brother waking up alone and cussing Faith to Hell and back. How humiliating! And of course he had to have known that Faith would share the story. Sam couldn't help himself; he started to chuckle.

"Speaking of things that got away . . ."

"Yeah, Fin?" Something in his tone awakened her Slayer instincts. Faith left Dean with the shredded remnants of his pride and turned to Fin, eyes bright with interest.

Finley gave her the basic outline of what had happened to Peter.

"Big Bad's coming? And it's got vamps working for it? Hmm. Now where have I seen that before?" Her voice was lightly mocking.

"I dunno. The Master?"

"Nah, mate. That was before Faithy's time. And does he count? I mean, he was a vampire anyway."

Two men emerged from the darkness behind the Winchesters. One was dark, broad-shouldered, and taller than Sam. The other was skinny, shorter, and platinum blond. Both wore leather jackets – in the blond's case it was more of a trench coat – and carried bloodstained swords in their hands. They stepped onto the lit porch, continuing their conversation.

"In that case, what about the next year? You know, Acathla, sucking the world into Hell, who was the Big Bad then?"

"Me. And some stupid, ugly, poofy-haired git with soul problems who got sent to Hell by his girlfriend." The blond paused, then added helpfully, "That would be you, Peaches."

The taller, darker man glared at him. "I still saved the world, Spike."

Spike shrugged. "Oh, sure. Having Buffy impale you on that sword was very heroic."

Peaches? Spike? The Winchester brothers glanced at each other in confusion. Did these men belong to a gang, or were they just gay?

"Back to the point," 'Peaches' continued, "by your rule, that one doesn't count either."

"Oh, it counts. Who was next?"

"The Mayor." Faith joined in the game, smiling reminiscently. "He had a whole coalition of vampires . . . and a Slayer."

"Who has since reformed," Peaches pointed out.

"We've all reformed, you great idiot," Spike shot back.

Sam and Dean followed this conversation back and forth with their eyes like bobble head dogs on a dashboard. Finley leaned against one of the pillars supporting the porch roof and watched in quiet amusement. If he was mentally taking notes for his dissertation, well, that was his business.

"And after that?" Faith prompted.

"Adam. And he definitely used vampires." The blond flushed slightly.

"So did Wolfram and Hart. And the Beast. And Jasmine," put in Peaches.

"And the First," contributed Faith.

"But not Glory or the nerd trio or Willow."

"Or Holtz."

"Circle of the Black Thorn did, though. Or are you trying to forget that, Peaches?"

"Wesley. Gunn. Fred." The one called Peaches said in a stiff voice, as if he was reminding them all of something.

Spike became momentarily subdued. "Oh." He turned to Faith. "So, does it count?"

"Huh?"

"Do vampires using vampires count as Big Bads with vampire henchpeople? 'Cuz if they do, well . . . Angelus here and I were pretty Bad in our day."

Finally something they said sunk in. Sam and Dean started suddenly, their hands automatically reaching for guns, stakes, some kind of weapon.

"They're vampires!" Dean bellowed.

Faith instantly stepped between the Winchesters and the vampires. "Easy, fellows," she said calmly, a satisfied look in her eyes. "Don't be hasty."

The bartender cracked a grin. Far from enjoying violence, he rather appreciated Faith unconsciously quoting Treebeard.

"Ye're just now getting that?" Spike shook his head. "They're a slow bunch, eh, Fin?"

Finley didn't reply. Dean, however, found a stake in his jacket and pulled it out, gesturing violently.

"Easy, Albuquerque." Faith considered stepping closer to Dean, but that would leave the younger brother unguarded. "Angel and Spike are vampires with _souls_."

"That's impossible," Sam said weakly, shaking his head at the brunette Slayer.

"Not impossible at all, actually," Angel corrected Sam coolly. "Not if you run afoul of Gypsies or are willing to fight a few battles in Africa."

"The soul part's not too bad," Spike added. "It's the guilt bit that gets you."

Faith sighed. This would have been _so_ much easier if Fin had prepped them on the way over. At least have introduced them to some of the stories. He probably wanted to study the psychology of them or something. Oh, well. It was whatever. Time to do some damage control and keep everyone playing nicely. She glanced at the visitors.

The Winchesters were staring at Spike and Angel in utter incomprehension. Fin, however, had watched both Buffy and Angel, and he caught most of their references. Not to mention he'd spent a decent amount of time with this lot since. He nodded and moved from the pillar.

"Right, then. What say we all go inside and discuss this not quite so openly?" Finley smiled, but his voice was extremely serious. "The night has ears."

Recognizing the wisdom in this, Sam and Dean relaxed a fraction as the vampires trooped into the house. They then followed Faith inside, through a large, comfortable living room, and into an only slightly messy kitchen. The Winchesters perched awkwardly on barstools at the kitchen table while Fin set to washing the few dishes in the sink. Apparently it was a habit, for Faith glanced as him exasperatedly, but didn't tell him to knock it off.

"The boys'll be back in a minute. Beer, Sam?"

"Um, yes, please." Sam was confused and nervous. What on earth were they doing inside a vampire's house? Even if these vamps were like Lenore, he did not want to be anywhere near them.

"Albuquerque?"

"My name is Dean," snarled Dean.

"I don't usually do names, but since this is turning into a work thing, sure. Want a beer, Dean?"

"Okay," he grunted. Dean hated vamps even more than Sam did. And what was this Slayer's story?

"Two beers it is. Fin?"

"No, thank you. I need to think."

Faith shrugged and opened the fridge. As she rummaged in it for beer, the Winchesters caught sight of several plastic jugs filled with what was undoubtedly blood. Sam felt sick. At last the Slayer straightened up, triumphant, two beers and a carton of orange juice in her hands. She passed a beer to each of the brothers, then sat on the kitchen counter next to the microwave.

Heavy footsteps were heard in the hall. Spike and Angel entered the kitchen, swordless and significantly less grubby.

"Sorry about that." Angel crossed the room to stand by Faith. "Had to clean the swords before they corroded. Slime demons . . ."

"Good news, though. We got the whole nest." Spike headed straight for the fridge. "G-d, I am starving." The blond vampire pulled out a tall glass half full of crimson liquid. "Cheers." He drained the glass in one go, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

The Winchester brothers looked at him in mute horror. Words failed them.

Angel grinned sardonically. "Spike, you gotta work on your table manners."

"You want some?" Spike had gotten a half-gallon jug out of the fridge and was refilling his glass.

"Of course."

Spike screwed the cap back on the jug and tossed it across the room to Angel, who caught it easily. The dark vampire brought the jug to his lips and drank it all in thirty seconds. "It's just pig," he explained, noticing the looks of extreme nausea on Sam's and Dean's faces.

"Right." Faith took a giant swig from her orange juice carton and jumped off the kitchen counter. She plopped down on a barstool at the table, suddenly focused again. "Let's get down to business."

* * *

Sara woke up at nine-thirty Sunday morning. At first she was rather confused as to why she was wearing nice clothes instead of her pajamas. Then the memories of the night before hit her, and she leapt out of bed.

"Crikey!"

As soon as she stood fully upright, however, a headache of monstrous proportions attacked her. Sara sat back down on the bed, glancing at her bedside clock. It was nine-thirty, and she had church at eleven. Not to mention this massive, ugly, nasty sugar migraine. Somehow, she had to remember to stop drinking Dr. Pepper at night.

Five minutes passed before she dared risk movement. Cautiously, the girl got to her feet. When the killer headache failed to intensify, she snatched her towel off the closet door and crept to the bathroom. Sara was quite proud of her sneaking skills. It definitely paid off this time; none of her roommates intercepted her on her way to the shower.

The nineteen-year-old emerged twenty minutes later, clean and pink and dripping hot water. She tiptoed down the hall back to her bedroom and dressed for church. After taking some Tylenol for her headache, Sara sat down to study her scriptures.

She managed to get all the way through church before the Dean debacle was brought up. Lynzey was driving her old Ford Taurus while Jen and Gwyn compared pedicures in the backseat. Sara sat shotgun, staring out the window, lost in her own thoughts. She was brought back to earth with an unpleasant jolt when Lynzey turned to her with a frown.

"So, Sara," she began with feigned casualness. "Who was your friend last night? I don't think I've met him before."

_Crap_, thought Sara vehemently as her stomach lurched uncomfortably. The truth obviously wasn't going to work here. She needed to think up a good story. And from the eager looks on her friends' faces, she'd better do it fast.

* * *

**A/N: Another chapter down, and Sara's got some serious explaining to do! ****How do you like the new characters? **Next chapter, I promise you'll find out what was in the note. I'm also going to try and start updating on a regular weekly basis. I got smacked in the face with a raft oar yesterday, so do my poor swollen nose a favor and review? Thank'ee kindly!

**Until next time,  
AiH **

**P.S. For all those who have never seen Buffy or Angel, you can catch the first season of Buffy on Hulu for the rest of this month. Or you can Wikipedia the shows to get some background info. I would try to explain it all, but the Buffyverse is rather a complicated place.**

**P.P.S. Happy Father's Day, mellyn!**


	12. Seven Layer Dip

**Disclaimer: I'd make up something big and dramatic about my lack of owning, but the fact is, I'm short on time. So... all hail Tolkien!**

* * *

Sara's ability to dissemble at times surprised even herself. Her friends had swallowed that hokey line about Dean being a friend of Hal's who had kindly offered to take her home after Hal had gotten into a minor fender bender. It wasn't Dean's fault that Sara had been exhausted from writing her paper and passed out in his car. On second thought, maybe they hadn't bought it. It was rather a flimsy story.

When they got back from church, Sara embroiled herself in editing her essay and studying for her finals. Her school had one of those weirdly awesome testing centers, so she could take her tests whenever she wanted. And she wanted desperately to get them all out of the way so she could find a way back to the 'Cat. They couldn't keep her out forever.

After finishing the essay, she skimmed through her notes on British Lit (Chaucer & Shakespeare); Intro to Biology (Bio for the scientifically challenged); Film as Lit (We'll always have Paris); Victorian England (her personal favorite); and Western Civ (Et tu, Brute?). Brain crammed to bursting with trivia, quotes, and the Krebs Cycle, Sara took a break and pulled the note from Fin and the Winchesters out of her pocket.

_Sorry for going behind your back, but trust me, you need to study. Grades matter, esp. when it comes to getting into grad school. See you soon! – Fin _

_Good luck with finals! – Sam _

Dean, opting for individualism, had drawn a bizarre-looking monkey whose head was on fire. He'd labeled it "Fin", then added a smiley face and his signature. Sara giggled every time she looked at the sketch.

The teenager suddenly got an idea. She paused, considering. Then Sara leapt to her feet and dashed madly about the room, grabbing her wallet and keys and throwing them into a small purse with a shoulder strap. Calling out to her roommates that she'd be back soon, she headed out the door for the closest bus station.

Half an hour later, Sara arrived outside the swanky apartment building where the brothers Treegarth lived. It was easy to coax her way past the doorman up to the penthouse, since the same man had been on duty Friday afternoon. As Sara's flirting powers were none too reliable, this was a definite relief. All the way up in the elevator, she kept clenching and unclenching her hands. She wasn't sure this was the right thing to do. What if they turned her away? Realizing that her fingernails were digging into her skin, Sara forced herself to relax. She could do this.

The elevator opened to the penthouse, and a frazzled-looking Haldir greeted her. He had obviously been forewarned by the doorman.

"Sara?"

"I'm starving. Do elves do Sunday dinner?" She ducked under his arm into the apartment before he could send her back down in the elevator.

"Is that a Sara I hear?" Rumil popped his head out of the kitchen, grinning.

"A feast?" Sara was past Haldir and in the kitchen before you could say "cheesecake". "I like feasts! We're having a feast?"

The elves nodded in confirmation. They wore chili cook-off aprons over nice white shirts and black trousers. Every flat, horizontal surface in the kitchen was covered with cookbooks and various ingredients. Something that smelled delicious was baking in the oven.

Inhaling deeply, Sara took a seat at the kitchen table. "What kind of feast?"

Haldir followed her into the kitchen glumly. "A feast for some old friends. You're supposed to be studying, not feasting."

"Relax, Hal. The feast isn't until Friday." Orophin looked at Sara keenly for a moment. "I daresay she's studied enough for today. She can help us plan tonight."

"And to be exact, Sara, it isn't just a 'feast for old friends'. Every year, we have a big party – all those of us who are left. This year it's a how-dare-that-Kiwi-make-more-films feast – but it's really just an excuse to get together and gossip." Rumil's eyes lit up as he remembered something.

"Gossip?" Sara prompted. Everybody loved gossip, even more than they loved parfaits – except when the gossip was about them, of course.

"Who's dating a mortal, who's checked into a sanitarium, who made a new fortune, who lost an old one, whose horse won the Kentucky Derby, who's moving to Europe, births, deaths, sailing over the sea . . . all that lovely stuff."

"Ah. So it's an elven feast?"

"Yes. And you're not an elf. So you can't come," Haldir said with an air of irrefutable logic. He was grasping at straws now.

Unfortunately for Haldir, his brothers did not share his feelings.

"Of course she can." Rumil contradicted his older brother flatly. "She can help serve. Bernie's going to cook, you know," he added in an aside to Sara.

This confused her. "Then why are you cooking now?"

Orophin shrugged. "We like to cook."

"Oh. Will Keredwel be there? I can't wait to meet her."

"I bet you can't," Haldir muttered, but the tension eased.

The timer on the oven went off, and Sara half-fell off her chair in surprise. The elves gathered around the door, arguing for a moment about whether to take their dish out or not. Finally they pulled it out and set a beautiful cobbler, all golden crust and bubbling filling, on a cooling rack.

"While that cools, let's try that seven-layer dip I made," suggested Orophin. "I think this one might just be a keeper."

And thus the brave culinary adventurers chomped away on chips and dip. Sara nearly suffered from a grave squeal attack upon the discovery of a bag of lime Tostitos in the corner cupboard. As they munched, the fiends spoke of nothing but jokes and other silly subjects. At length Orophin swallowed thickly.

"I spoke to Rupert this morning about the 'Something Bad'," he said slowly.

"And?" The others all looked at him in dread.

"He laughed, called us stupid. Asked how we could be so blind. He said . . ." The blue-eyed elf gathered his courage. "He said the Something Bad was Bernice."

Rumil howled with laughter, spraying guacamole and sour cream and refried beans everywhere. Wincing, Sara wiped green flecks off her glasses.

"Bernie?" she asked Orophin, giving his tall brother a Glare of Doom. "Was he serious?"

"As the plague," he said gloomily. "He couldn't stop laughing."

"He isn't the only one." Haldir kicked Rumil in the shins, _hard_. "It isn't that funny. And you got spit on the blackberry cobbler. Brilliant."

"Who, me?" Rumil tried – and failed – to look innocent.

"Guys, focus!" Sara turned back to Orophin, eyes wide and nervous. "You don't think he could be right? That Bernie is the Something Bad?"

"If he's right, we're all doomed." The tall elf got up and brushed the cobbler clean. "Dessert, anyone?"

* * *

Finals week flew by. Sara studied in the mornings and took her test around noon. She packed up her bedroom with great trepidation. Her contract ended Saturday morning, and she had yet to finalize summer living plans. The uncertainty made her stomach hurt.

Every afternoon and evening, however, Sara had the time of her life hanging out with Rumil, Orophin, and Haldir. They taught her Sindarin phrases, took her horseback riding for the first time in her life, and snuck her into their theater. Soon Sara was selling tickets and replacing ushers who called in sick.

She was not in the least surprised to find the elves were excellent actors. It did come as a surprise to her when someone suggested she read for a small part in the next summer production. Although the suggestion flattered Sara, it sent a twinge of sorrow through her nonetheless. She was probably going to have to leave Saturday.

So it was that Friday morning found the girl calling her mother and packing listlessly. There had to be a solution, and somehow she would find it.

"Hi, Mom."

"Hey, honey! How are your finals going?"

"I'm done, actually. Made all A's."

"Sara, that's great! I'm so proud of you!"

Gosh. What was it about moms that always made you miss them? Hearing her mother's voice, full of love and enthusiasm, it was all Sara could do not to start bawling. The more she talked to her mom, the more homesick Sara got. Strangely, she found herself missing the podunk little town where she'd grown up – something she'd promised herself never to do. Sara and her mother talked for almost an hour, then Mrs. Gilley turned to the problem of getting her daughter home the next day.

"I suppose your brother and I can drive up and get you. It's only about four hours. Or do you think Lynzey could bring you halfway?"

"I dunno, Mom."

"Hmm. Well, it never hurts to ask. Let me know what she says, won't you?"

"Will do. Hey, mom?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

Standing in her neat kitchen two hundred and fifty miles away, Mrs. Gilley smiled. "I love you too, Sara. I think your brother just broke something in the bathroom. I'll talk to you later, sweetheart."

"Okay. Bye, Mom."

Sara hung up the phone, feeling slightly unsettled still. Most of the uncertainty was gone, however. Tomorrow, she would return home, and that was that. Maybe look up some of her old high school friends, try to get a job, lose ten pounds . . . in short, all the old summer goal standbys. The girl sighed. She would go home, and while it would be great to spend time with her family, life in her provincial small town would be nowhere near as exciting as the 'Cat. But then again, she hadn't heard from Finley in almost a week, so . . .

Suddenly her mind was made up. Sara set to packing with almost brutal speed. Clothes, knick-knacks, and old papers were all thrown haphazardly into suitcases and cardboard boxes. Only books received decent treatment. When everything was boxed and taped up, she brushed her hands on her jeans and went to ask Lynzey about a ride.

Upon returning to her room, Sara found her phone lit up and buzzing. It was Orophin, calling to confirm that he would be picking her up in a few hours for the feast. She teased him about the Something Bad, pestered him for news of the final menu, and begged to be allowed to sample the Dorwinion wine and proposition Legolas.

"He won't be there, you nitwit." The elf's laughter immediately took the sting from his words. "Although I heard Keredwel fairly pleaded. She's man-mad, I swear. Or perhaps ellon-mad, you might say. And no wine. Aren't you underage?"

"Technically."

"We'll see what we can do. Maybe play Bernie and Haldir off one another – don't gasp like that. It was Rumil's idea, anyway. He's rather excited for tonight. He has an excellent nose for scandal."

"Scandal?" Had Sara been a puppy, her ears would have been perked straight up. She wondered randomly if elves could wiggle their ears better than humans.

"There's always some scandal when we all get together. From the grin on Rumil's face, it's going to be big."

Sara stopped trying to wiggle her ears. Big? Sounded like fun. She smiled at the phone. Tomorrow, it would be back to life as usual. But at least for tonight, she had the feast.

* * *

**A/N: And here we are, getting back to elves, Sara, scandal, and, oh yes, propositioning Legolas. Should a certain pointy-eared princeling make an appearance at the feast? Press that tantalizing little button at the bottom of your screen, and let me know what you think! Oh, and can anyone tell me what 'crack' means as a fanfic term? Thanks much!**

**AiH**


	13. Lime Sorbet

**Disclaimer: All hail the mighty Tolkien! NOW.**

* * *

When Orophin arrived to pick Sara up at 4:30 precisely, the girl was waiting by the door. She had dressed carefully in her best pair of black trousers, a black shirt, and a silvery grey vest. Jen and Gwyn complained that she looked like a hostess at some mid-range franchised restaurant, but Sara just grinned. If she was going to be serving at this great elven feast, she wanted to look nice, but not noticeable. She just wanted to be the "help." Seen yet unseen. Kinda like a butler.

Sara climbed into the front seat of Orophin's car, which was even cleaner and shinier than usual. The blue-eyed elf smiled at her, and they took off.

"Where's the feast again?" Sara wondered. In all the haste of packing, she had quite forgotten. "The 'Cat?"

"Too small."

"Oh. Where then? Your penthouse?"

"Nope. Guess again."

"The ballroom or top floor of some fancy hotel?"

"Wrong again. Care to keep guessing?"

"You're enjoying this," she accused.

"Of course." Orophin ran a yellow light with supreme unconcern. "Rumil's going to be having the time of his life tonight. I have to get ahead while I can."

Unimpressed, Sara rolled her eyes. "By frustrating me?"

The car pulled into a parking lot across from the local aquarium. Orophin squeezed his sedan in between a silver pickup and a neon green convertible. "Show off," he growled at the convertible. "Okay, Sara, here we are!"

Squirming out of her seatbelt, the girl glanced up at their destination. It was the 'Cat! Only today, instead of being Lucky or Dancing, the sign said "Queen Beruthiel's Cat". The painted tabby on the sign oozed smugness.

"You lied to me."

Orophin shrugged. "Of course I did. The game's no fun if you guess it right the first time. Hang on, I'll open your door." The elf hopped out of his seat and hurried around to open Sara's door for her. "Your hand, Madam?"

Amused by this sudden overdose of courtesy, the girl allowed him to help her out of the car and escort her inside the restaurant. She was very much aware of how handsome Orophin was in his silvery blue dress shirt. Sara had to stifle a giggle as they passed a pair of devastatingly elegant ellyth. They had to be elves; she'd never seen a human girl with that air of ethereal beauty. The ellyth raised their eyebrows delicately as Orophin and Sara passed.

"And so the gossip begins," he whispered into her ear. "Valar, Rumil is going to have a wonderful night."

"So will you. Look, that girl over there's giving you the eye." Sara nudged him with her elbow and nodded towards the elleth in question.

"Quite." Orophin gave the elleth an appraising look. "Er, Sara, Bernie is in the kitchen waiting for you. Just go on in."

"Righto." Somehow, Sara managed to hold her smirk back until she passed through the shining steel doors into the kitchen. Once inside, smirking was the last thing on her mind.

Bernie stood in the middle of the room, glaring angrily at a giant cauldron. Her hair was frizzy but not scarily so – not yet, anyway – and she looked as thought she'd lost weight. Rosalind the cat crept out from beneath the sink and mrrow-ed thoughtfully.

"I know, Rosie, I know," the cook murmured to her cat. "This would be so much easier if . . . drat those elves! And where is that confounded girl?"

"Me?" Sara ventured.

The woman spun around, hazel eyes glinting. "Yes, you. You and I need to talk. But first you're washing dishes."

"I thought I was supposed to help serve?"

"Wash. Dishes."

There was no arguing with that tone, so Sara set to making friends with the giant pile of mixing bowls, measuring spoons, and various cutlery littering the sink. After watching her for a moment, Bernie turned back to her cauldron and started swearing at it in Orkish. Sara recognized "ghâsh", and that was about it. Purring violently, Rosalind the calico cat wove her way through Sara's legs, leaving spiky orange hairs in her wake.

"Not bad," Bernie said as the last dish went into the dishwasher. "I borrowed this bloody thing from a giantess friend, and it's supposed to work fairly well, but it refuses to do dessert. So you're going to have to help me make lime sorbet." She went over to the giantess-sized fridge and pulled out a twenty pound bag of limes. "Start slicing and juicing."

"I'm not serving?" Sara took the heavy bag of citrus and set it on the kitchen table. She collected a knife, a lime squeezer, and a bowl.

"Not yet."

Accepting defeat, the girl seated herself at the table. "How many of these am I doing?"

"The whole bag," Bernie answered breezily.

"Brilliant."

After muttering darkly at the cauldron for another minute, Bernie set a solution of sugar water on the stove to boil. "Time to talk, missy."

"Huh?" Sara was too busy _not_ juicing her fingers to look up. "Talk? I didn't do anything."

"They never do," Bernie said dismissively. "No, I'm not going to hound you. I just wanted to apologize for Fin and his lot dragging you into things."

"Oh. I don't mind."

"You should," Bernie sighed, and for a moment she looked almost forty. "Fin's an idiot. He's twenty-seven, and he thinks he can live forever. He lives for excitement, for danger, for something to break up the monotony of a normal life. So do the Winchesters. So does Faith – and Angel. And Spike."

"Faith?" Finley had been hanging out with another girl all week?

Bernie's glance was pitying. "Faith's a vampire Slayer. Lives with her best friends – two vampires with souls – in a nice house on Cherry Street. Sam, Dean, and Fin have been running around time with them all week, hunting vampires, getting drunk . . . We've been the Fanged Cat, the Brooding Cat, or the Tokay Cat all week. Who on earth wants to come to a restaurant called the Brooding Cat? Much less the Fanged Cat?"

"So you don't control the name?"

The cook laughed humorlessly. "Honey, I don't control anything." Rosalind hopped onto the table, purring madly. "Easy, Rosa. Do _not_ get cat hair in the lime juice."

For once obedient, the calico stepped lightly to the other side of the table.

"Anyway," Bernie went on, "Fin is being ridiculous. He knows mixing the Winchesters and a Slayer is a bad idea. Faith and Dean will hook up – again – if I'm any judge of human nature. Spike will congratulate her, Sam will be jealous, and Angel will fume silently. They'll all get each other into far more trouble than they would on their own. And to what effect? Trust me, it's all about the rush, the adrenaline, the escape."

"But don't the Winchesters have a mission? And this Slayer, too, I assume? Aren't they here to protect people?" She flushed under Bernie's patronizing gaze.

"They exist because the 'Cat exists," she said softly while petting Rosalind with one hand. "Without the 'Cat, you wouldn't see them. None of us would. They'd just be TV shows and books and movies. Our 'realities', as it were, would never combine."

"What?"

"It's true. Except for the elves. I really don't think the 'Cat has anything to do with the elves."

Sara cut and squeezed her tenth lime in silence, trying to take this all in.

"You're like Fin, you know. I can see it in your eyes. You crave it, too. The excitement, the danger, the endless possibilities. Here's a word of advice – not sure if you'll take it, but I'm going to give it to you anyway. Don't get involved."

"Huh?" This, coming from Bernie, the mistress of half of Sara's library?

"Don't let your heart get too involved in all this. Because someday – and trust me, you'll never see that day coming – someday it will all be gone."

"I leave tomorrow morning. Going home for the summer. I know it'll all be gone tomorrow."

Bernie nodded. "Good. It may not seem like it now, but eventually you will want a normal life. Fin and his friends . . . they think they can hunt down the Something Bad and save the world. I don't think they realize that it is our choices that create our own Big Bads. Humans can wreck the world all by themselves."

"Hear, hear."

Both women jumped. Standing behind them was an elf, a bit thinner than most. His blond hair was cut in a short, almost emo-type style, obscuring his eyes. The elf wore dark jeans over heavily worn cowboy boots. A short-sleeved black T-shirt emphasized just how skinny he was.

"Collin," the elf said quietly as they stared at him in puzzlement. "I'm here to help with the cooking."

"Bernice Chapman." The two shook hands. "Collin, huh? Well, Collin, this is Sara, chief of citrus. Collin's a polf, Sara."

"Polf?" That was not a word in any language Sara knew of. Maybe Swahili? Tagolog? Mermish? It certainly had too many varied consonants to be Troll.

"New change in terms, actually. It's Paculelf now. Kind of like Pachelbel but without the soothing music. A Paculelf is an elf who follows the current style trends of pop culture," Collin explained.

Sara looked at Collin skeptically. "Really. What an awful thing to do with your time." She still felt miffed over Bernie's remarks. Miffed and horribly confused.

Collin grinned. "It is, isn't it? So what can I do to help?"

"Why are you back here?" asked the older woman bluntly. "Why aren't you out there feasting?"

He shrugged. "I hear you've catered these things before. Then you must know that there's always some kind of ridiculous drama. And I've had a rather interesting year."

"You're hiding," Sara accused.

"Oh, absolutely. Now, how can I help?"

Six courses out of the enchanted cauldron later, Collin and Sara helped Bernie scoop lime sorbet from the ice cream freezer. Sara's arms ached from carrying heavy plates to and from the kitchen. At least the feast was going well, she thought. Haldir and Orophin looked happy, and Rumil was almost indecent with glee. The elf knew something, and Sara guessed he was about to go to town with it.

Collin refused to go out and serve, but he was very helpful otherwise, taking dirty dishes from her the instant she got back in the kitchen and washing them immediately. He was funny, too, with a dry sense of humor that quickly took the frown from Bernie's face.

Everything was going swimmingly, and they were halfway through serving the sorbet when the kitchen doors burst open. Collin instinctively dove for cover as a beautiful dark-haired elleth stormed in. She was followed by a harassed-looking Haldir.

"Keredwel, wait!" Haldir pleaded. "Can't you just – "

"No!" the elf maid shrieked. "No more waiting! Legolas! I know you're in here! Come out, you coward!"

"Crap," whispered Collin from his hiding spot behind Sara's shoes. "She found me."

* * *

**A/N: For my American friends, enjoy your Fourth of July weekend! And as always, please review!**


	14. Leftovers

**Disclaimer: If I owned it, Glorfindel would have met the hobbits and Aragorn outside of Rivendell. Not Arwen.**

**Author's Note: Special thanks to everyone who answered my crack fanfic question and to Triva for a wonderful anon review.**

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"Just what do you think you're doing in my kitchen, Haldir of Lorien?"

Utterly terrified, Haldir slowly turned to face Bernie. He hadn't spoken to her since the night when she'd spiked his drink and sent him to a sleazy club. Rumil and Orophin had been the ones who talked her into catering. And now, having her see him chasing Keredwel, the very reason they had split up – never mind that he was only trying to keep her from making a scene… The elf exhaled loudly. "Yes?" He was doomed, and he knew it.

For her part, Bernie was doing her best impersonation of a saber-toothed tiger. She bared her teeth in an awful caricature of a smile. Glancing inconspicuously to her left, she saw Collin cowering on the tile behind Sara's legs. Luckily for Collin, the cauldron and the kitchen table both helped to shield him from view. Neither Keredwel nor Haldir could see him.

"Get out of my kitchen, Hal," she warned, adopting a weary tone. "You and your piece. I want you out, _now_. Unless you want to be the reason half the guests don't get dessert?"

The elf paled. "Bernie . . ."

"Out. And her."

Keredwel turned to Bernie with a regal countenance and supremely arrogant air. "I am looking for Prince Legolas. A reliable source told me he was here."

_Rumil_, thought Sara, and she fought to hide a grin. She could feel Collin – Legolas? – trembling at the backs of her knees.

Quite fed up with the intruders, Bernie scowled at Keredwel. "The only elves in my kitchen are you two. And trust me, if you don't leave in the next ten seconds, you will regret it. Savvy?"

Haldir nodded. "Come on, Keredwel. Let's go. Legolas isn't here."

"I am _NOT_ leaving!" shrieked Keredwel.

"Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. You'd better hurry up, Haldir!"

"I'm trying, woman!"

"Six. Five. Four. I'm warning you."

"Keredwel!"

"NO!"

"Three. Two. Last chance, Hal."

The former Marchwarden spat out a very nasty word. In a dashing move, he swept Keredwel off her feet and rather less heroically carried her from the kitchen.

"One," Bernie finished to the now-silent room. "D-mn. Now everyone's going to think they're together."

"I'm sorry." Sara stepped away from Collin and jumped up to sit on the kitchen table. "So you're Legolas, huh?"

Collin/Legolas slowly got to his feet. "Yes," he admitted dejectedly.

"Can I proposition you?"

It was a new approach, and that alone made him smile. "For how much?"

"Eighty-nine pence."

Both Bernie and Legolas made disparaging noises.

"Surely I'm worth more than that?" The elf brushed his hair out of his face, revealing a pair of greenish grey eyes dancing with humor.

"I'm broke," Sara explained, grinning openly now. "So, how about it?"

"You aren't serious." It wasn't a question.

Bernie snorted. "Of course she isn't serious."

"Yeah, well, in my experience, you can't always tell." Legolas hopped up onto the table next to Sara. "Nice to finally meet you, Bernie."

The cook raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. And here I thought you were terrified of women. What changed?"

"Therapy," he answered shortly. "Lots and lots of expensive therapy. And then I stopped wasting time and started volunteering in orphanages and things. That really helped. I decided it was way past time I start living again. So here I am."

"But you won't go to the feast."

"Half the time I don't know if the ellyth are real, or if they're one of _Them _secretly in disguise. At least Sara isn't one of _Them_."

"You can tell?"

"If anyone has had enough experience to tell, it would be me. Besides, _They _don't joke about propositioning you. _They _just try to jump you."

Sara snickered at the casual way he said this.

Frowning slightly, Bernie reminded them, "I hate to end this lovely little conversation, but we've still got 50 plus elves waiting for sorbet. Back to work, people!"

Legolas and Sara got down from the table and returned to their scooping and serving duties respectively. By the time this feast was over, Sara just knew she would have epic biceps – okay, maybe that was more of an unreasonable hope. She had just finished delivering the last few bowls of sorbet when the back door to the kitchen flew open and a herd of people tramped in.

"Bernie! Long time, no see!" Their leader, a brunette woman with bright doe eyes, went straight to the cook and threw an arm around her shoulders. She was followed by two men, one tall and dark, the other slender and fair, both incredibly attractive. Sam and Dean entered behind them, and Finley brought up the rear. All six were clad in dark jeans and leather jackets, like some mini biker gang.

"Faith. Angel. Spike." Bernie greeted the first three newcomers with a nod and a smile. Passing over Fin and the Winchesters, she turned to her helpers. "Sara, Legolas, meet Faith the Vampire Slayer, Angel – wave, Angel – and Spike. Faith and Co., the girl is Sara, and the elf's Legolas."

"Nice to meet you," Sara said, feeling awkward. Faith was every bit as good-looking as she'd feared, and Finley had yet to meet her eyes.

"You the new girl?" There was nothing but friendliness in Faith's smile, but it didn't make Sara feel any better.

"Yeah."

"Welcome to the jungle," Angel, the dark one, grinned.

"Can you cook?" Spike asked, much more to the point.

"Not well," she admitted.

"Pity." The vampire turned to Legolas. "How 'bout you?"

Chuckling, the elf shook his head. "Never been very good at it, I fear."

Sam, Dean, and Fin hovered in the background as the introductions were made. While Dean didn't regret his decision to not get in touch with Sara, he wasn't entirely ready to face her wrath. What with Faith ragging on him half the time and flirting with him the other half, it had been a long week, and Dean honestly could not take much more strange female behavior. As for Sam, having promised nothing explicitly or implicitly, he was off the hook.

Introductions out of the way, Bernie turned to the Winchesters.

"You boys hungry?" she inquired sweetly.

Finley started to wince, but Sam and Dean didn't catch it.

"You know us, Bern. We'll always eat your cooking."

Bernie smiled at Sam, accepting the compliment as her due. "Angel, Spike, there's a new blood cocktail I wanted to get your opinion on. It's in the back fridge with tonight's leftovers."

"And I'm sure Blondie here can show us all where that is. Right, elf boy?" Catching the weird Bernie vibes, Faith took Legolas's hand and pulled him towards the walk-in fridge. Startled by the unexpected contact, Legolas jumped. Faith instantly let go. "Whoa, buddy. You okay?"

Coming up behind them, Dean placed a hand on each of their shoulders. "He's just wise enough to run from you, Faith."

The Slayer threw her head back and laughed. "Nice one, Albuquerque – I mean Dean."

"Come on, you two." Sam joined the party, attempting to herd his brother and Faith to the fridge.

"Let's go, mates," added Spike with a nervous glance over his shoulder at Bernie, who was smoldering silently.

"Don't worry, Legolas. We won't let Faith get you." Finally, the taller vampire managed to get everyone moving, and they all crowded into the walk-in refrigerator.

Back in the main room of the kitchen, Sara and Fin were pointedly not looking at one another. Bernie glared at them both.

"All right, you two," she began when the fridge door shut with a loud click. "We have ten minutes before they start developing hypothermia – five if they realize there aren't forks in that fridge. And who knows when some drunken elf is going to stagger in here asking for lembas . . ."

"Do you have an answer figured out yet?" Fin asked quietly, not taking his eyes off the floor.

A hint of a smirk toyed about the corners of Bernie's mouth. "This year, I'm going to tell them that it's _way bread_, and they have to go _away_ before I can give it to them."

Finley shook his head. "You're incorrigible."

"No, I just desperately hate having elves traipse all over my kitchen. Especially that ridiculous idiot Keredwel."

He raised his eyebrows. "Keredwel was here?"

"Yup." Sara was done letting them talk without her. "She was hunting for Legolas."

"I assume she failed to find him?"

Bernie sniffed impatiently. "Of course she did. Otherwise he'd be nearly catatonic by now."

"Keredwel's that bad?"

"Sara, Legolas has been the most eligible elven bachelor since the sons of Elrond got engaged to those sisters from New Zealand. His elusiveness has only served to make him even more of a tempting challenge," Fin explained.

"Oh. I thought you'd never met him."

The bartender shrugged. "Hal and his brothers tell a lot of stories."

"And you've gotten drunk together enough to know." Bernie was not even bothering to try to mask her irritation any longer.

Sighing, Finley turned to Sara. "Look, Sara, I'm sorry about the past week. I've been busy. How'd your finals go?"

Sara glanced up and looked at him, strangely disappointed. He'd been _busy_? That was all she got? No real apology, just a sorry, he'd been busy? Baloney sandwiches. She stared at Fin, wondering if she was truly seeing him for the first time. The glamour of infatuation was fading. In her mind's eye, the girl watched him tumble off a marble pedestal and crash to the floor. Her silly crush was gone, and now she had to deal with Fin the real person, not her idealized version of him.

"They went fine," she answered slowly.

"I'm glad. So, you want to know about the Something Bad?"

"Sure." Why not?

"All right. Just let me go get everyone else so they can help explain it all."

Bernie threw her hands up in the air in defeat. "I'm going to make lembas," she grumbled, annoyed. "If anyone talks to me, I will personally mince them into bits and bake them in pastry."

* * *

Angel shut the door to the fridge firmly and whistled softly. The other inhabitants of the fridge looked similarly relieved.

"I didn't know if we were going to get out of there in time."

Legolas looked at Spike questioningly.

"Oh, come on, mate. Surely you could tell Bernie was about to blow?" The vampire started searching the shelves. "Crimson Cocktail, right? It's got to be here somewhere. Angel, help me look."

While the vampires hunted down their bloody beverage, Legolas directed the hunters and Faith to the Tupperware containers full of the feast's leftovers. The humans dug into the grilled chicken breast, lemon pepper asparagus, and fresh sourdough rolls. Not in the least bothered by their lack of silverware, they adapted by using the rolls as napkins. Angel and Spike found two thermoses with their names on them in neatly labeled masking tape. Knowing how much the two hated sharing, Bernie had thought ahead.

"So what was Bernie upset about?" Faith asked at length, reaching for another roll. "I haven't seen her that uptight since Hal cheated on her with Keredwel - her words, not mine."

"Fin," Sam answered shortly around a mouthful of asparagus.

Sinking down to sit on the floor, Faith rolled her eyes. "Got that part, Sammy. But why?"

Dean swallowed before he spoke. "Sara."

"The new girl?" Spike considered this for a moment. "Do they have a thing?"

The Winchesters exchanged looks. Someone was going to have to explain this, and neither of them really wanted to. As playing Rock, Paper, Scissors for it would be a little obvious, they'd better tag team it.

"Not a _thing_. Not exactly."

Faith tilted her head to the side, confused. "What do you mean, not exactly? Fin isn't the guy for a one-night stand. And it didn't really look like that would be her thing, either."

Choking at the thought of her implication, Sam flushed. "Nothing like that. It's just . . . We think Sara likes Fin, and it kinda seemed like the feeling was mutual."

"And then he went and hunted with us all week and never found time to call. He said it was for her own good."

Angel and Spike winced. They had learned through painful experience what happened when you made decisions for someone else's "own good". Invariably, the person was offended by your highhandedness, and nobody ended up happy.

"Did he now?" Legolas was clearly amused. "Did she contact him?"

"No," Dean replied without having to think much about it. "I don't think she did. Maybe she didn't like him that much, after all."

Being the only woman in the room, Faith felt it her duty to correct him. "When you really like a guy, you don't want to chase him. You want him to chase you."

Spike lifted a scarred eyebrow in amusement. "Since when have you ever let someone chase you, pet?"

"Have you ever liked someone enough to be chased?" Angel teased.

The Slayer shook her head. "Boys, boys. Every girl's got her secrets. And speaking of secrets, how about you, elf boy? What's your story?"

"Me?" Legolas half-wanted to run from those curious brown eyes. He had no doubt whatsoever that in her way, Faith was as dangerous and predatory as one of _Them_. Probably more so, he amended, remembering that she was a vampire Slayer of all things. Rumil had been right; Bernie did keep the most interesting company. "You sure, Faith? It's a rather long tale."

"We got time. Bernie and Fin are working out their issues. And if we get cold, well," Faith shrugged, "we can always open the door."

Rather relieved that that was her only solution for fending off the cold, Legolas inhaled deeply. He pondered where to begin – before or after the War of the Ring? Then the fridge door opened abruptly, and Finley stuck his head in. The elf fought back a shiver that had nothing to do with the sudden temperature change. There was going to be a story told, all right, but it wouldn't be his.

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**A/N: Sorry for the delay, but my new job as a hospice aide and college classes intervened. On a good note, I rode my horse bareback without a halter or anything the other day! As always, reviews are appreciated - especially since I've got a hankering to reach 70 with this chapter. Please drop me a line and let me know what you think so far, and what you'd like to see in the future.**

**Until next time,  
AiH **


	15. Lembas Again

**Disclaimer: I hired a dread-locked pirate to commandeer the rights to Rings for me, but he spent all my investment money getting smashed in Tortuga. C'est la vie.**

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Slowly, the inhabitants of the fridge trooped out into the kitchen. Bernie was standing at the counter by the oven, mixing something and emanating disapproval.

"So if everybody will sit down, I figured we'd just have a regular council of war and decide what we're going to do," Finley explained. The bartender refused to look behind him and acknowledge his irate boss. Deep down, he knew why she was furious, but it wasn't something he could admit to himself, let alone to anyone else.

"Fine by me." Faith sat cross-legged on the floor, Angel and Sam on either side of her. Dean and Spike flanked Sara, who was gnawing the inside of her cheek. Legolas sat halfway between the two trios, not as a bridge but because his claustrophobia was acting up again. Confident and in control, the Slayer spared a glance for each of the other women, then turned to stare down Fin. "Start talking, Finley."

Before he could properly begin, however, the kitchen door flew open, and a conga line of inebriated elves danced in.

"Lembas! Lembas! Give us lembas!" chanted half of them while the other half sang an incredibly bawdy song that Angel recognized from his riotous youth in the 1750's.

The council of war all leapt to their feet with the minor exception of Legolas, who crouched behind Sam, petrified. Supremely disdainful, Bernie ignored the drunken singing long enough to slip her lembas-laden cookie sheet into the oven. Then she rounded on them.

"Silence!" bellowed the cook, her voice trembling with rage. "Stop that infernal caterwauling this instant!"

To the vampires' great surprise, the crowd fell silent, and the writhing, twisting conga line slithered to a halt. Sara felt only mildly impressed. She had come to expect spectacles such as this. If anyone in this place had superpowers, it was Bernie.

"Good. That's better. Now get out of my kitchen."

"Lembas?" A blond elf staggered out of the middle of the line. He reeked of alcohol.

Bernie sighed. "Atanior, right? Don't tell me; Rumil spiked the punch again, didn't he?"

As Atanior nodded somewhat uncoordinatedly, Dean sniggered with appreciation into Sara's ear. "Nice."

Sara couldn't help it. She grinned back at him. Man had she missed Dean.

"Of course I spiked the punch." Rumil poked his head out from behind an even taller elf with silver hair. "Sacred charge, given to me by Celeborn three millennia ago. Spike the punch, get rumors going, make sure everyone's alive. Valar, but we can be a sedentary race sometimes. Someone's got to stay alert. Keep us all moving and hoping and connected. Make sure we all care about one another."

"Be that as it may, you get a kick out of meddling in other people's lives," observed Bernie astutely.

Rumil grinned wolfishly. "Yeah, well, that's just the extra gravy on top. Eh, Legolas?"

"Legolas?" Keredwel stopped gossiping with her neighbor, her nostrils flared wide like a hound on a foxhunt.

Curled up in a ball behind Sam's heavy work boots, Legolas whimpered softly. It was enough. The elleth stormed across the room in seconds, yanking him to his feet.

"Hello, Legolas," she simpered with bared teeth. "I thought you might be here tonight. Miss me?"

When his attempt to assume the fetal position failed miserably, Legolas began whimpering even louder.

Keredwel ignored this. Instead, she dragged Legolas to the middle of the room, where all the elves could see him. "Hey, everyone. Look what I found. It's Legolas!"

"Let me go. Please," Legolas begged, a tinge of panic in his voice. He twisted his wrist violently, but her grip never loosened. Afraid of a sprain, the elf desisted. Rumil looked across the room at him with regret. Maybe this hadn't been such a great idea, after all. Bernie considered intervening, but Legolas had to stand up for himself someday. And she had to watch the lembas. "Let go of me," pleaded Legolas again, his voice breaking.

Sara had had enough. She marched over to Keredwel to give her a piece of her mind. At that exact instant, Faith moved to do the same. Their eyes met, and the young women smiled at one another. Faith gripped Keredwel by the arm, hard.

"Let. Go." Faith's voice was hard and rough. No gentleness, just granite. "Or I will break your arm, princess. And that's a promise."

"I wouldn't tangle with her." Sara took Legolas's free hand. He gripped hers so tightly her fingers went white. "She's kind of a . . . witch."

"Who do you think you are, Wynona Rider?" Keredwel demanded imperiously, looking at Faith as though she were a stray dog with bladder control issues.

That was it. Faith brought her knee up quickly into Keredwel's forearm, breaking her hold on Legolas. With a speedy push, she sent the elf out of harm's way and trusted Sara would look after him.

"You bi – " shrieked the elleth, but she was cut off by two swift punches to the ribs. She fell back, gasping. Faith advanced. The Slayer swept a foot behind Keredwel's knees, then jerked her legs out from under her. Keredwel tumbled to the floor. It took her a moment to regain her balance and sit up. When at last she did, it was to give Faith a baleful stare and then immediately launch into a tirade of terrible abuse.

Before Faith could lose any more of her composure and decide to beat the elf senseless, Angel intervened. He stepped out of the crow of frozen onlookers and laid a hand on the Slayer's arm. "Faith."

She took a step backwards and knocked into him. The vampire grabbed her shoulders, and he slowly pulled her back away from Keredwel.

"Come on, Faith. Let's get out of here."

The Slayer's face was horrified. She glanced at Sara once, her eyes terrified at what she could have done, what she had almost done. A strangled sob escaped her. Suddenly Faith spun around and fled the room, Angel at her heels. Spike followed, shaking his head slowly. He paused just long enough to mumble something to Dean.

"Sorry, mate, but you're never going to get her. At the end of the story, Faith belongs to Angel. And that's how it's always going to be."

"Why do you stay, then?" Dean demanded in a much louder voice.

Spike grinned ironically. "I'm just along for the ride – that, and they're the only family I've got." Then he, too, was gone.

At last Bernie took her attention away from her oven. "Now look what you've done, Keredwel. You scarred Legolas for the next two thousands years of his life," she gestured to the elf, who was currently using Sam, Dean, and Sara as a three person deep human shield. "You have twice invaded my kitchen, and you drove off Faith, who I actually happen to like – unlike you, who I absolutely detest. So do the world a favor and get the hell out of my kitchen."

Her perfect cheeks a very becoming shade of mauve, Keredwel rose to her feet. "If that's the way you feel about it."

"I do."

"Very well, then. I concede; you win. You and that ragtag batch of humans and monsters and impotent elves you call friends. You all sicken me." With that, Keredwel lifted the skirt of her extravagantly poufy emerald dinner gown and swept from the restaurant.

"Bernie!" Another blond elf burst from the line. "Bernie!"

She turned to him with a dazzling smile. "Haldir!"

And then the two of them were rushing together. Bernie threw her arms around Haldir's neck, and the elf lifted her into the air as their lips met in a passionate kiss. The elven guests burst into thunderous applause. Haldir and Bernie did not stop kissing.

"I've had enough of this," Dean muttered to his brother. "Everybody's getting some but me."

Sam snorted. "Dean . . ."

"Hey, that Faith girl was hott. Psycho as he-eck," he amended with an embarrassed look at Sara, "but hott."

"She rather intimidated me," Legolas admitted quietly.

Coming from any other guy, Dean would have ridiculed that statement. But he had heard something about what Legolas had gone through, so he kept his mouth shut. The elf had yet to let go of Sara's hand, though, and maybe that was the beginning of progress.

"Let's get gone, Sammy."

"No, stay." The elf's voice had been restored to its usual calmness and serenity. "There are plenty of ellyth to dance with."

"Dance?"

Just then, the strains of some catchy pop song came on over the new speaker system Bernie had installed for the feast. The Winchester brothers stood frozen.

"I don't know how to dance to this," Sam admitted awkwardly.

Legolas laughed. "Go ask Viviane. You see that red-haired elleth, the one in the navy dress with the coterie of brunettes around her? She'll teach you everything you need to know about dancing."

Dean resisted the elf's gentle shove. "Why should she help us? We aren't exactly elf material."

"Because you look dangerous, and most inebriated ellyth find that highly entrancing. Now go! Before some other elf gets over there, and you miss your chance."

This time, the Winchesters followed his advice. Making their way over to Viviane and her friends, they immediately struck up a conversation. Within a few minutes, the group migrated out into the main room to dance.

"How do you know Viviane?" Sara asked conversationally, slowly prying Legolas's grip open one finger at a time.

Realizing what she was doing, the elf prince instantly released her hand. "Viv's my niece," he explained, flushing. "I copied the whole Paculelf thing off of her."

"Including the cowboy boots?"

He grinned. "No, those are mine. I spend a lot of times with horses. That expensive therapy I mentioned? Nearly half of it was paying a friend to let me stay at his ranch in Texas and then bribing him not to tell anyone about it."

"Oh." She stuck this bit of information safely away in a mental file labeled "Legolas".

The song had changed to something slower, more romantic, with a steady four-four beat. They listened to it for a moment, then Legolas turned to her, his eyes bright. "Care to dance?"

Sara frowned at him and decided to be blunt. It was the best way to go. "Are you flirting with me?"

"What?" Utter surprise and confusion registered on his face.

She repeated herself. "Are you flirting with me? Cuz if you are, then you had better mean it. I am sick of people flirting with me just because they feel like it." The girl unconsciously glared at Finley, who was standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the dance floor with a fabulous blonde.

Following her gaze, Legolas easily put two and two together. "I don't mean to flirt. I just . . . Look, Sara, I'm trying to conquer my fears. I cannot allow them to rule me any longer. You are the least predatory female here. So if you would be so kind as to grant me a gargantuan favor, would you please dance with me?"

"Yeah, all right." Smiling, Sara took the elf's hand and followed him out onto the dance floor.

The rest of the night passed quickly, leaving only a series of brief impressions. Rumil, Orophin, Sam and Dean dancing like maniacs with Viviane and her friends, crazy, happy, silly grins plastered across their faces. Bernie and Haldir serving lembas to the entire crowd, holding hands. Learning to swing dance with Legolas. Listening to Bernie when she said she had something important to tell her, but it could wait until tomorrow. The cook winking at Sara before disappearing into the mass of dancers with Haldir. Not looking at Fin when the DJ – Lindir of all people! – played Jar of Hearts.

And then, when it was all ending far too soon, Legolas pulling her closer and yelling over the music to ask if she would like a ride home. Sara nodded. In that instant, the Something Bad and liking Finley and the whole complicated mess that was her life didn't matter. For once, she was dancing without making a fool of herself – with Legolas, no less! - and that alone was enough to celebrate.

* * *

**A/N: My inspiration happened to get trashed in Tortuga with the same dread-locked pirate, but I finally sobered it up with chemistry finals. As always, reviews are greatly appreciated.**

**AiH**


	16. Rum

**Disclaimer: The writer formally known as Authoressinhiding hereby renounces all claim to the Lord of the Rings franchise on pain of being hung by the neck until dead.  
Signed,  
The East India Trading Company **

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It was two o'clock in the morning, and the feast was finally over. Rumil, Orophin, and Legolas stood at the front door waving goodbye to the last of the guests. Up to their elbows in soapsuds, Sam, Dean, and Sara were scrubbing the kitchen spotless while Finley swept the dance floor. Bernie and Haldir had left arm in arm an hour before to cheers and catcalls. Music was still playing over the speakers, and Sara was singing along outrageously.

"It's raining men! Hallelujah! It's raining men. Amen!" she belted out, accidentally splashing Dean with scalding hot water.

"Ouch! Watch it!" he said gruffly. Taking a plate out of her hands, the older Winchester stuck it in the dishwasher, which was nearing full capacity. "We've got room for two more, then we've got to start washing them by hand."

She ignored him. "I'm gonna go out, I'm gonna let myself get absolutely soaking wet!"

"Feeling deprived, are we?" Finley brought the vacuum into the kitchen. He looked significantly at Dean, who had his shirtsleeves rolled up past his elbows and was sporting a pair of very nice forearms. The bartender then nodded towards Sam, who was likewise in a state of slight dishabille. Fin himself wasn't too bad, either. Without his leather jacket to cover it, his white t-shirt emphasized a highly respectable six-pack.

Sara forced herself to focus on the greasy cookie sheet in her hands. "God bless Mother Nature! She's a single woman, too!"

"It's a song of gratitude. Get it, Fin?" Sam clambered out of the giant cauldron he had been scouring. "Sara's just grateful to be surrounded by handsome men such as ourselves. Right, Sara?"

"Darn straight."

"Hey, I saw you dancing with Legolas earlier. Looked like you two were having fun," observed Finley.

"He was teaching me how to Lindy Hop, and then Orophin taught me the Charleston, and Rumil led the entire room in a Morris dance. That was fun."

"That was the weirdest thing I've ever done," muttered Dean fervently. When the others looked at him skeptically, he amended, "Okay, so _one_ of the weirdest things I've ever done."

"What was weird?" Rumil, Orophin, and Legolas walked in, finally finished with their goodbyes.

Finley smirked. "Dean isn't quite prepared for the utter masculinity it takes to dance the Morris."

"Oh, you mean like this?" The elves began to dance the traditional steps of the Cotswold Morris, albeit without handkerchiefs.

"Stop, stop! I can't take it!"

Sam laughed. "Hey, guys, don't drive my brother completely crazy. I do need him."

Elven feet quickly clattered to a halt.

"Sorry about that." Rumil wasn't sorry at all. "How much more cleaning is there to do, Fin?"

Gesturing at the messy kitchen around them, the bartender grimaced. "A lot."

It took all seven of them the better part of an hour before the kitchen was gleaming chrome and silver again. The dishes were washed, the entire building had been vacuumed and mopped, and all the leftovers were safely put away. When it was finally clean, Finley set out a circle of seven chairs on the dance floor. Beer, wine, or water in their hands - depending on age and alcoholic preferences - the worker bees settled down in the chairs for more Middle-earth ghost stories. Legolas knew tales about the spiders in Mirkwood that could make even the Winchesters' blood run cold.

At the conclusion of one such chiller, Dean voiced a question he'd been pondering for a while. "So, Legolas. You and Aragorn . . .?"

"Yes?" Legolas didn't see where this was going.

"Did you two ever . . .?" He was reluctant to say it aloud in front of Sara.

"Ever what?"

Rumil sighed in exasperation. Leaning over, he whispered into the other elf's ear. Legolas instantly turned pink, then white, then finally a pale green.

"That is disgusting."

Dean shrugged. He dealt with disgusting every day. "Answer the question."

"No, we have not!" Legolas had to remind himself to breathe. "Estel – Aragorn – and I are very good friends, but that is all."

"Okay. I was just wondering."

Oddly enough, Dean's question reminded Sara of a question of her own. "Hey, Legolas?"

The wood elf turned to her with nervous eyes. "Yes?" he asked somewhat hesitantly.

"I thought you sought the Havens. What happened?"

As one, Fin, Rumil, Orophin, and Sam all let out a sigh of relief. They had feared something much, much worse.

Wondering how best to explain this to her, Legolas frowned in thought. Then the words came, slowly at first, but soon picking up speed. "Gimli died," he stated softly. "He wasn't supposed to, you know. It was Tol Eressëa. But he did." Legolas's frown deepened, as if even now the dwarf's death still made no sense to him.

"Gimli died, and I had never been able to find Aragorn in the halls of Mandos. Not that they let me into Valinor, but Mithrandir has always been a favorite of the Lady of Mercy, and he said Estel never came there. In short, I felt alone, utterly alone without any deep friends of the heart. I was totally unprepared when _They_ came."

"_They_? Who are _They_?" wondered Sara.

"Trust me, you don't want to know," Fin told her. The others nodded in agreement. "Continue, Legolas."

"I went insane." Now the elf refused to look at any of them. "I was supposed to be safe there. When I realized I was anything but, I went comatose. Woke up in Estë's garden with Elrond bending over me." The elf forced a smile. "Felt like I was five hundred again, rather than five thousand. Well, the Valar had a conference, and they decided to send me back to Middle-earth – therapy was cheaper there. Only it wasn't Middle-earth anymore, just Earth. And _They_ were everywhere. So that's how I came back. Wish I could find the last of Cirdan's people and sail home, but maybe I'm doomed to be crazy. Maybe there's no way out for me. Maybe I'll end up in a nursing home someday, locked up in their dementia unit." Legolas shivered and looked down at his cowboy boots.

"I hate _Them_," growled Dean, who was halfway through his second beer. "_They_ really suck."

The rest of the circle mumbled their morose assent, even Sara. She was beginning to guess who the _Them_ might be but was reluctant to voice her suspicions. The teenager had a nasty feeling that _They_ might make an appearance soon enough.

Stretching his back, almost catlike, Orophin surveyed the group, smiling ironically. "We are really turning into the Land of the Misfit Toys tonight, aren't we?"

"The Land of the Depressed, Abused, Jaded, Slightly Drunk Misfit Toys," Sam corrected.

"Misfit Toys who still aren't getting any."

"Dean . . ."

"Shut up, Fin. You were thinking it, too. Don't bother denying it."

"Dean!" Fin pointed angrily at Sara.

"Oh. Sorry."

Sara just shook her head and chuckled. "So this is what men are really like, huh?"

"We're all pigs, Sara," Dean declared sagely, downing the rest of his beer. "And anyone who's telling you different is lying to you. _Fin._"

The bartender rolled his eyes. "No more for you, Dean. Not until you've slept all this off."

"So . . . half an hour?"

But Finley was adamant. "No. No more tonight, and that's final."

In an attempt to change the subject before the mood got ugly, Sam interrupted. "Sara, I honestly don't know that much about you except that you're a college student. And Bernie said you're going home tomorrow. You know all our stories. So tell us something about yourself. Please."

_Well, this is awkward_. Suddenly all six of them were watching Sara, and the college student was feeling rather cornered. Oh, well. She would rally and persevere.

"As I'm sure you all know," Sara began self-consciously, "my name is Sara Gilley, and I go to university here." She swallowed. Why had Sam asked her this awful question? She honestly wasn't that interesting. "I'm from a small town a few hours north of here. My two best friends there are Valerie and Crenna. Val's twenty-two. We've been best friends since I was eleven; we met at a church thing. Val's super laidback, very funny, and we hang out all the time. Crenna, now . . ." Her voice trailed off. How to describe Crenna so they could see her properly?

"Crenna?" Sam prompted. His diversion was succeeding.

Sara swallowed again. "Crenna's driven, stubborn, highly intelligent, and kind of insane. She likes horses even more than Legolas – if that's possible. She's addicted to music. Sometimes she gets too caught up in her current project or idea to notice other people's feelings – maybe that's why Val and I have always been closer. One thing I will say for Crenna, though: she is incredibly loyal."

"They sound like good friends."

"Oh, they are!" Sara flushed at Orophin's remark. "Which is why this next part sounds so bad. I really hate being home. Don't get me wrong. I _love_ my mom. Heck, I even love my little brother. But that small town . . ." She shuddered, unable to finish.

"Small towns, they suck," Dean agreed. "Sammy and me – we've been in and out of enough of 'em to know."

"Yeah," the girl sighed. "So what else is my story? I played flute in the high school marching band, named it Loki, and I'm trying to work things out so I can go to school in London next year. I like Sherlock Holmes, love Oscar Wilde, and totally vote McShep." She didn't bother explaining the last part. Either they got it, or they didn't.

"Thanks for answering my question. And double thanks for leaving out the tawdry love affairs."

"Only for you, Sam."

The doorbell rang impatiently, startling them all. Frowning, Finley got up from his chair and went to the door. He pulled it open, and two men ducked in. They were both tall and very tan with worn blue trousers and coats and long brown hair pulled back into ponytails. The taller of the two had hazel eyes that immediately scanned the room before relaxing slightly. Meanwhile, his shorter companion started apologizing to Fin.

"Sorry for the lack of notice. You're Finley, yes? You haven't changed too much since I was last here. Where is Bernice?"

Fin mentally placed the two men, and he grinned his devilishly merry grin again. "Out on a date. Gentlemen, Sara, I would like you to meet Captain William Turner of _The Flying Dutchman_ and Commodore James Norrington, formerly of His Royal Majesty's Navy. Will, James, meet Rumil, Dean, Orophin, Sam, Legolas, and Sara." The bartender pointed to each in turn. "Take a seat; I'll get you a drink."

The newcomers pulled up chairs and joined the circle while Finley fetched a pair of dark green glass bottles from behind the bar. "Bernie said you might be coming soon, so I made sure to stock up last weekend."

"Tortuga rum," Will explained to Sara, choosing to ignore the real reason for her wide-eyed stare. "Ever tried it?"

James raised an eyebrow. "I doubt she's old enough. Unless the laws have changed in the last ten years?" he asked in a beautifully accented English voice.

"Nope. Legal drinking age remains at twenty-one. It's my business to know." Fin was still grinning. "Travel safely?"

The men frowned. "We may have been followed," James admitted reluctantly.

"Sometimes I think _They_ know our routines even better than we do," said Will sheepishly. His fingers were white where they clutched the bottle of rum. "You'd think, since it's my one day off . . . I could at least be free of that."

Legolas raised his head. "You'll never be free. Not if you're counting on _Them_ to respect things like common courtesy and human decency."

"Human decency?" The bitterness in Will's voice was tangible. "Humans are rarely decent."

"I think they've gotten worse," James said dourly.

Will chuckled dryly. "I'll drink to that." He raised the rum to his lips and downed half the bottle.

"You were followed?" Finley reminded them.

"We think we were."

"Oh, you were."

Surprised by the new voice, the group looked up to find the room filled with beautiful, voluptuous teenage girls of every height and coloring imaginable. The girls stared hungrily at the men and elves, for the moment totally ignoring Sara. Will stood up sharply, his hand going to his cutlass. "Bugger it all. Not _again_."

* * *

**A/N: Muahahahaha. Any requests for characters you'd like to see again?**


	17. Lobsters

**Disclaimer: The Road goes ever on and on, Down from the door where it began. I don't own anything from Middle-earth, and I don't think I ever can.**

**Author's Note: I apologize for the long delay, but I had to move halfway across the country for school, and then I broke my fibula last week, so updates may be a tad erratic for a while.**

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"This. Really. Sucks," Dean complained to the walk-in fridge full of Extraordinarily Handsome Males – and Sara. "I mean . . . dude. This sucks hardcore."

His compatriots nodded glumly in agreement. Will had stayed to hold the horde of teenage girls at bay while the others made a break for it. Unfortunately, there were half again as many of _Them_ in the kitchen, and they were trapped. Finley somewhat kept his head, and the group retreated into the refrigerator. Now Legolas was curled up in the fetal position in the furthest back corner, muttering to himself in Quenya. Looking uncomfortable yet resigned, Rumil and Orophin were seated on giant crates of vegetables along the left wall. The Winchesters leaned against the shelves of the wall opposite, Sara standing in between them. James Norrington and Finley stood at attention by the door.

"Is that Will guy going to be okay?" Sam wondered quietly.

Norrington forced a smile. "_They_ have no power over him. _They _should be unable to hurt him."

At that exact moment, as if to prove him right, Will strode through the fridge door. He didn't open the door, dart in quickly, and slam it behind him. No, William Turner, Captain of _The Flying Dutchman_, strode _through_ the solid steel door.

Reactions to this varied. The elves – with the exception of the nearly comatose Legolas – raised their eyebrows slightly. Dean frowned. Sara squeaked. Sam copied the elves. Finley and Norrington were too jaded to react.

"Nasty bunch out there," Will commented, ignoring the others' surprise. He slowly began to do up the buttons of his shirt, which had mysteriously come open. "And if I read them right, somewhat desperate."

Orophin swore uncharacteristically.

The captain smiled in sympathy. "I see there's no need to tell you what that means."

More swearing, this time from everyone with a Y chromosome.

"What does it mean?" asked Sara, forcing herself to look at Will's eyes, not his muscles.

Once upon a time, Will had felt awkward, insecure, and even embarrassed about his body and how some people seemed to fixate on it. But that had been a long time ago. Death kinda helps you get over things like self-consciousness. All the same, centuries as ferryman for the sea's many dead had heightened his sensitivity to others' feelings. There was often so much pain on the _Dutchman_. So while Will didn't mind Sara's not-so-well-concealed admiration of his abs, he took pity on the poor girl and buttoned faster.

"Well," he said, doing up the last button – still three down from the top (he had to show off that scar somehow), "it means that _They_ are willing to take extraordinary risks and – James, how did you put it earlier?"

"Bloodthirsty." His captain safely back now, James left his position at the door and went to check on Legolas. Crouching down next to the prone elf, he placed a surprisingly gentle hand on his shoulder. "Legolas?" When he failed to respond, James sighed. The former naval officer removed his long, heavy brown coat and draped it over the elf.

"We brought him back, poor soul," Norrington said quietly in response to the others' questioning glances. "Back from Paradise. Even that had been ruined for him."

Will winced. "I remember. Only the second time I'd ever brought anyone back. Direct order from Calypso. Didn't realize how bad off he was until we picked up a sixteen-year-old girl off the coast of Algiers. Between convincing my men that going after the white slavers would just result in more dead girls and keeping Legolas from going catatonic . . . It was a straight month of pure nightmare."

Sara hated to interrupt, but she really did have a question. "Guys? Are _They_ the Mary-Sues?"

"You know about _Them_?" Fin was half-smirking, as if he'd suspected it all along.

This was not the moment to inform them of her junior high dabbles in fanfiction. Although judging by Finley's smirk, he had already guessed about them. "I know a little," Sara replied cautiously. "I kinda hoped _They _weren't real. Yeah . . . should have known better."

"Told you we should have taken off after Viviane left," Dean grumbled to his brother.

"And left them to face the Something Bad?" Sam hissed back.

"Don't you get it, Sammy? This _is _the Something Bad? What could be worse than this?"

Sara could think of several things that were immeasurably worse. Then again, she was waging a major civil war with the half of herself that was starting to consider the eight guys in the fridge as her "harem". Perhaps her judgment was a bit skewed at present.

"The point is not that we're in trouble. The point is that we need to find a way to get out of trouble. Turner, can you take others through walls?"

Will looked at Rumil with a new respect but shook his head regretfully all the same. "Unfortunately, no."

"Hmm. Fin, any secret tunnels out of here?"

"Afraid not."

"Can we call Bernie and ask her to help us out?" Sara suggested hopefully.

Finley snorted at her naiveté. "Bernie's with Haldir, Sara. She's not answering her phone."

"Oh . . ." That was awkward. "So how do we defeat _Them_? Fiend-fyre? Soap suds and lemon juice? Evisceration? Paper cuts? Death by wildebeest stampede?"

Norrington turned to her in slight surprise. "You're ready to kill, then? Already?"

"_They're_ just the figments of someone's imagination, aren't they? I mean, they're not real. So it wouldn't really be killing anyone."

"All of us come from stories," Fin said slowly. "That's the thing about the 'Cat. It brings all the stories together. Which is problematic, when it comes to _Them_. Sadly, _They_ are real, and _They_ actually do have power. You could always go out there and tell _Them_ that _They_'re imaginary, but it wouldn't end well."

"Although I'd kind of like to see her try," Dean chuckled.

Sam shook his head. "Sara going out there wouldn't solve anything. But I got to ask – would Bernie really have the power to kick _Them _out?"

The bartender nodded. "Anyone remember what Bernie's mother's maiden name happened to be?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Sam was completely confused.

"It was Turner, savvy?"

James rolled his eyes. "And of course you had to do that, didn't you? Two and a half centuries later, and that pirate is still ruining my afterlife."

"Only because you let him," Will said firmly, trying to hide his grin.

Dean grinned at Will. "I think I like you. This dude walks through walls, stands up to _Them_, and he's got a sense of humor. Think we could stand to have him around for a while, Sammy?"

The captain laughed. "I'm afraid I already have a job. Ten years at sea, one day on land. It's a bargain that cannot be broken." The merriment drained from his face, leaving it tired and lined. "I tried once . . . I knew Elizabeth wasn't going to live for another ten years. I wanted to stay with her. I _tried_ to stay with her. Calypso's power dragged me back to the Dutchman. It was excruciating. I've stuck to the rules since then."

"Did you ever get to see Elizabeth again?" Sara asked gently.

"No." Will shook his head. Even after two hundred years, a deep sorrow flickered in his eyes at the memory. "I could not. But James was with her until the end. The rules are more flexible for my crew. And I am grateful for that."

His first mate shuffled his feet awkwardly. Just then, Legolas got to his feet. Clutching Norrington's coat to his shoulders, the elf highly resembled a rather blond hobo and provided an excellent distraction. "Are you feeling better?"

"Maybe if I got really, really, really drunk I'd feel better," the elf replied dryly. "But probably not even then."

"Do you have any idea how to defeat _Them_?" Sam didn't mean to be so businesslike; he was just worried.

Legolas flushed. "I haven't tried," he admitted bleakly. "Not for millennia. And I've been running so long I may have forgotten how to fight."

"I think the rest of us – with the exception of Sara, of course – have had enough experience to have some idea of what to do. Haldir, Orophin, and I usually have _Them_ thrown out by the theater's security or block them on Facebook. Although Orophin and I rarely get too many of _Them_, thanks to our relative obscurity in the film. Sam, Dean, what do you do?"

"Behead the vamp-Sues, exorcise the demon-Sues, leave the small-town-tough-girl-Sues behind us in the dust. Never been up against a horde before."

Sam nodded in agreement with his brother.

"Will?"

But as the undead captain opened his mouth to answer Rumil's question, fists began pounding on the steel fridge door, shaking it in its frame. Legolas went white but stayed standing.

"It's time," he whispered.

"What do you want?" Will bellowed, nodding to Norrington. Both men drew their cutlasses and stood in front of the door. Pulling guns out of their jackets, the Winchester brothers followed suit.

_They_ shouted back with several commands and requests that made everyone except Dean blush.

"Sorry, ladies!" Fin called out as the door shook even more violently. Grim-faced, Finley, Rumil, and Orophin braced the door with their shoulders. "Rape is not on the menu for tonight," he added more quietly.

"Rape?" Sara mouthed.

"Considering that you're a girl, you should probably be safe," Finley tried to reassure her.

"Maybe," added Dean. "Did you catch all of that?" He inclined his head towards the door.

"It bears neither repeating nor remarking upon," Norrington reprimanded sharply.

"Dean, shut up," Sam echoed, teeth gritted together.

Shrugging, Dean held his hands up in a gesture of innocence. It wasn't his fault that _They_ chose to be profane.

The door shuddered violently. Even the hinges were shaking. It was as though dozens of girls were flinging themselves against it, over and over and over again. Which, in fact, _They_ were.

"It isn't going to hold much longer," Rumil warned, one slender, long-fingered hand on the door itself as if he were feeling for information.

The majority of the group swore resignedly. Sara, however, glanced around the fridge, filled with sudden inspiration.

"Guys!" _Harem! _herinner voice argued loudly. It was quickly shut down. "Guys!" she repeated.

They turned to her wearily, faced with the daunting task of trying to protect their honor.

"I've got an idea. Can _They_run faster than an elf? I mean, Legolas, you said you'd always ran from them before. Were they ever able to catch you?"

"No." Legolas didn't bother keeping his voice down. Not even _They_ could hear him over the pounding on the door.

"Good. So here's my idea. Unfortunately, the door opens in. So we open it, and then Will stands in the doorway – keep _Them_ from pouncing on the rest of us. Then Legolas, Rumil, and Orophin run as fast as they can past _Them_ outside. Once you're out of the 'Cat, split up. That way there will be fewer pursuers following each of you. When you think you're safe, run another mile, and then take very circuitous paths to the old Catholic church on Fifteenth. The chapel is always open there, and _They_ may not think to go in. The rest of us will stay here and fight off what's left and get out as we can. It's probably best if you guys take your shirts off before you run."

The others considered this plan for a moment. One by one they began to nod their agreement.

"It should work. I've got a few things we can add." Finley wandered through the fridge, gathering up overripe produce. "The rest of us might want to go shirtless as well. Distract them while we fight. We can tuck our clothes back here." The bartender heaved aside a heavy white tub full of scuttling lobsters.

Norrington raised his eyebrows at Will.

"That's all Bernie," the captain defended himself. "Not me."

"Right." Tucking his gun into the back of his waistband, Dean began stripping. "Come on, Sammy."

Jackets, vests, shirts, and undershirts all came off and were safely hidden behind the lobsters. Sara kept her eyes on the floor; looking up was dangerous.

"On the count of three, then, ready?" Will surveyed the group. They nodded in return. "One, two, three!"

On three, Will began to pull the door open, bare steel in his hand. The elves shot past him, darting through the mass of girls before _They_ could recover from exposure to so much handsome man-flesh. Sam, Dean, and Sara came next. While Sara threw nearly rotten peaches at _Them_, the Winchesters fought hand-to-hand. They used their guns to club off clinging girls. Finley and Norrington brought up the rear, Fin with an armful of lobsters. He flung these into the crowd of females, who shrieked at the unexpected crustaceans.

Sara soon ran out of produce and resorted to fighting as dirty as she knew how. But then she was caught up in the middle of _Them_, unable to find a way out.

"Run!" Fin bellowed to the others, and then he spoke a single word in a harsh, guttural language.

Instantly, rain came pouring down from the ceiling. _They_ screamed as _They_ were soaked. Taking advantage of _Their_ distraction, Sam and Dean found their way to the door and disappeared into the night. Fin couldn't see Sara, so he left, thinking she had already escaped. Glancing around, James only saw his captain, who nodded at him, giving him the "ok" to leave. The former commodore ran out, confident that Will would catch up with them later.

The rain suddenly stopped. Apparently one of _Them_ had found the off-switch for the fire sprinklers. _They _stopped shrieking and gradually came to their somewhat debatable senses. _Their _other prey had flown the coop, but Will was still there, drenched, wary, sword in hand, but still incredibly hot. _They _advanced on him.

Frowning, Will mentally prepared one last bit of witty repartee before he made good his escape. And then he saw her – Sara – being held by two irate Amazon types. She looked wet and miserable, but she still kept trying in vain to escape. The undead captain swore silently. Things had just gotten difficult. Simply walking through walls wasn't going to get them out this time.

"I think we found something of yours, Captain," sneered the darker of the Amazons, dragging Sara forward.

"Indeed." Will's brain raced. Think! WWJSD? What Would Jack Sparrow Do? "And what is it you want with yonder strumpet? I had thought your tastes ran more to men?" He didn't dare meet Sara's eyes.

A few of _Them_ giggled nervously. The Amazon continued, unruffled. "And what would you give for her, then?"

Will didn't even have to pause to think. "Nothing."

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**A/N: Review?  
**


	18. Breakfast Part 1

**Disclaimer: Having just watched the Extended Trilogy for the third time this year, I can quite certainly tell you that I own NONE of it. **

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Nothing? Seriously, nothing? Sara stared slack-jawed at the captain, unable to accept what she'd heard.

"That is a singularly unattractive look," hissed the blond Amazon as she pinched Sara's upper arm in a moment of pique.

"I'm sopping wet, I smell like LOBSTER, and the only guy in the room is _dead_ – sorry, Will. Do you really think that looking attractive is my top priority right now?"

"It certainly isn't mine," Will muttered under his breath.

"Enough!" While shapely legs and a large bosom were part of the darker Amazon's many virtues, patience was clearly not. She frowned at Will, trying to think in the face of his impossibly chiseled body. "I take it you want me to kill the whelp?"

Will deliberately kept his voice light. "By all means, kill the whelp. However, you might remember that this restaurant belongs to a woman of very volatile temper." Now he allowed his tone to darken. "If you kill her, Bernie will see to it that you regret it for the rest of your days."

The Amazon's frown deepened. "We have heard of this Bernice Chapman," she admitted sulkily. "We were not aware of her interest in this matter."

Really, _They_ could be ridiculously self-absorbed sometimes. Sara rolled her eyes discreetly. It was Bernie's restaurant; of course she would be interested in a murder that took place there.

Somehow, Will managed to maintain a straight face as he answered the Amazon. "Bernice Chapman _is_ a rather unreasonable woman."

"If we let her go, can we have you?" blurted out a petite redhead with a fashionable pixie cut.

"Whether you let her go or not, you will never have me. That I promise you."

"Then why should we let her go?" demanded the blond Amazon.

The undead captain sighed. Circular reasoning. Here they went. Again.

In the end, Will flat-out told them that Sara was ugly and disgusting and that to associate with her any further simply debased _Them _beyond the ability of his tongue to tell. Twenty minutes of straight flattery – and some very effective posturing – later, even the dark Amazon was goo-goo-eyed and melting with his every word. _They_ dropped Sara's arms, and the college student slowly scuttled from the room.

Sara escaped to the street outside. She leaned against the cold brick wall of the 'Cat, breathing in great gasps of clean air. After the miasma of contending perfumes that clung to _Them_, it was a welcome change. Gradually her heart stopped racing, and she stepped away from the wall

Just in time, too. The second she moved away, Will came through the brick wall, sheathing his sword. He held out his hand to her. "Time to go."

She took his hand, and they ran. Since Will had never been in the city before, he let Sara lead. Rather out of shape, the teenager couldn't spar the breath to ask him any of her dozens of questions. The two sprinted several blocks until they drew up outside the Catholic church on 15th Street.

"Sorry for what I said back there," he mumbled quietly as Sara panted heavily, bent in half.

Unable to speak, Sara just waved him away. Honestly, the majority of the rude things he'd said about her were probably true, and all she really wanted right now was a long, hot shower, and then to sleep for a week. It was almost five in the morning, and already the pitch black of night had turned to dusky gray.

"Let's go in. The others are waiting," Will reminded her.

Bloody heck, she didn't want to take another step. But the others _were_ waiting, and she needed to see if everyone had made it okay. "All right."

They walked into the chapel and saw their friends sitting on the pews in the back corner. Fin, the Winchesters, the elves, Norrington – all of their faces lit up with relief at seeing that they were safe. Explanations and apologies tumbled out, mixing with one another until no one could make heads or tails of the conversation.

"Enough!" Fin called loudly over the tumult at last. "I advise we move this reunion somewhere else before the actual church patrons arrive, and we ruin early morning mass for them forever."

It was a sensible suggestion. The group got to their feet and shuffled silently from the chapel. Sara wasn't Catholic, but she paused in the center aisle to look at the crucifix above the altar and cross herself. Saying a silent prayer of gratitude inside her head, the girl followed the others out.

Sam and Dean had taken the time to grab the Impala, and somehow they all managed to squish in. It was a good thing elves were so skinny, but Sara and James Norrington ended up sitting on the floorboards anyway.

"Where are we going?" Dean asked as they pealed away from the curb.

"The penthouse," answered Orophin quickly. "We have plenty of room and extra clothes and multiple bathrooms."

"What he means is, everyone can take a shower and get the stench of _Them_ out of our noses," Rumil amended.

The older Winchester laughed shortly. "Sounds good to me. How do we get there?"

* * *

By the time everyone had gotten in and out of the shower, it was six o'clock. Sara had passed out on the comfortable leather couch in a set of Orophin's pajamas. The girl lay curled up on her side, her face pressed into the back of the couch. One arm was draped along the curve of her leg, the other hidden beneath her. Far more accustomed to staying up all night, the Extraordinarily Handsome Men gathered around the kitchen table to hold a mini Council of War.

"How did you leave _Them_, exactly?" Fin asked Will, who was perched on the counter, looking utterly exhausted.

"Got Sara out, showed off a bit, locked them in the kitchen, then snuck out through the wall. _They_'ll probably find a way out soon."

"Not if we have anything to say about it."

Two elves strode into the room, identical down to the very last detail, from their long, dark hair to eyes the icy gray of a winter rainstorm to their clothes, which were the same well tailored, fitted black. Their faces were blank and cold, their eyes stern. These were not elves who laughed much.

"Elladan! Elrohir!" Out of all the company, Legolas was the only one to leap to his feet, grinning wildly. "Mae govannen, gwadyr."

The sons of Elrond allowed themselves small smiles.

"We received your message, Legolas." It was the one on the left who spoke. Elrohir, in fact, but only the elves knew that. None of the men, not even Fin, could tell them apart. "It is done."

"Done?" Sam sounded slightly worried.

Elrohir turned to him. "Yes, done. _They_ have been handled."

"Handled?" Finley was skeptical.

The other twin answered him. "We sent them Elsewhere."

"Where Elsewhere?"

Hearing the mischievousness in Rumil's voice, Elladan nodded, and his smile widened. "Forks, Washington, I believe it was? There's so much power around the 'Cat that it was easy to do."

"And _They_ will be suitably distracted there," his brother added.

"How'd you manage?" asked Fin.

Elladan shrugged effortlessly. "Simple, really. Walked in there like the men in charge, gave _Them_ _Their_ options."

"Sudden, violent, painful death by Balrog, or a nice long trip to the Northwestern coast. Guess which one _They_ picked?"

Legolas frowned. "You don't have a Balrog," he pointed out.

The last of the iciness melted in the elves' faces. "Of course we don't have a Balrog," smirked Elrohir. "You know that, and we know that, but fortunately for all of us, _They _didn't. _They _thought we were devils... Although one of _Them_ kept calling me Feanor... Ugh." He shook himself to get rid of the thought.

"We brought your clothes, by the way. They're in a bag in the living room beside the sleeping mortal. Why is there a sleeping mortal?"

"Why did you skip the feast?" countered Rumil.

The sons of Elrond winced. "We, er . . . well." Elladan was obviously reluctant to finish, so his brother took over.

"We recently became disengaged, if you must know, and we thought it would be best to keep a low profile for a while."

Among all the night's gossip, that had not reached Rumil's ears. The elf cocked his head to the side, one hand playing absently with his hair. This was _BIG, BIG _stuff. No wonder the twins had skipped the feast. With all the ellon-hungry ellyth around, they would never have had a single moment's peace. "You are doomed," he announced abruptly.

"We know," they sighed.

Legolas, on the other hand, looked positively gleeful. "I'm not alone! People can chase you two now!" The wood elf began to caper madly about the kitchen.

"I guess he was feeling left out," sniggered Dean to his brother. Sam just raised his eyebrows.

"So now that _They_'re out of our hair, what about the Something Bad?" Fin wondered aloud as Legolas continued his crazy dance.

"Finley, I believe the Something Bad was _Them_," Orophin said quietly.

"What?" Dean stood up, furious and confused. "Then what happened to Peter?"

The elf looked pained. "I am sorry for your loss, but I fear it must have been a random vampire attack."

"Random vampire attack?" Dean bellowed. Spit flew from the corners of his mouth. "A common vamp could _never_ catch Pete!"

"Faith said it might be a possibility." Sam hated to say the words, knowing that as soon as they were out that Dean would see them as a betrayal.

The older Winchester rounded on his younger brother. Hands trembling with barely suppressed emotion, he grabbed Sam by the shoulders and started to shake him. "Peter could never be killed by a vamp. _Never._"

"Except he was, Dean." Sam took hold of his brother, trying to calm him down. "Dean, it happens."

It wasn't supposed to happen, the Winchesters did their best to prevent even _thinking_ about it happening, but the truth was that it did happen. Hunters died. And sometimes it was big and noble and heroic and glorious, but sometimes it was just tragic and pathetic and stupid. One misstep . . . and you'd never see daylight again.

Dean knew this as well as Sam. Better, even, for he had been hunting longer. Perhaps Dean had suspected, at the beginning of this dreadful hunt, that something was wrong. Peter had been drunk as a skunk when they'd talked to him. There was no mistaking _that_ smell. Maybe he had been in a state to slip. But that acknowledgement cut Dean, burned him like dry ice, and he hated to even think it.

Slowly the man relaxed his grip and dropped his hands to his sides. "Let's get out of here, Sammy."

Sam nodded. "I think it's time."

Their minds made up, the Winchesters said a few, quick goodbyes and left the kitchen. Sam stopped to pat Sara's shoulder on the way out. Dean went back to the kitchen, filched a piece of paper and a pen, and tucked another quick sketch beneath the girl's hand. Pausing just long enough to collect their clothes from the twins' bag, the two men disappeared into the elevator. Moments later, Elladan and Elrohir raised their thing eyebrows. The revving of the Impala's engine was clearly audible even in the penthouse.

Finley let out his breath, a slow, controlled expulsion of air. "So now what?"

"Let Sara sleep. She had a rough time of it back there. She isn't exactly the type of girl to get along with _Them_."

"Indeed not." Norrington got to his feet and stretched. "Well, captain? We have eighteen hours left, by my mark."

_You mean _I _have eighteen hours left_, thought Will, but he was grateful for the plural anyway. "Aye. I would like to spend some time with my great-great-something-grandchild." He smirked. "Someone's got to remind her that she owes me posterity."

"That is exactly the most nauseating thing you could have said, yes." Bernie swept in to the room, clad in a tartan bathrobe. Haldir followed at her heels. He had neglected a shirt. His brothers elbowed one another and exchanged glances. The elf flushed, embarrassed. He was going to be teased about this for the next decade at least.

Bernie threw her arms around her ancestor as if she were a girl of ten and not a woman of thirty-odd. "How are you, Pops?"

Will embraced her tightly. "All right. You?"

The woman drew back, hazel eyes glinting impishly. "Oh, I was just fine, until someone's dulcet tones woke me up."

"That was Dean," Fin established quickly.

"I figured." Bernie looked around the kitchen. "Where's Sara?"

"Passed out on the couch."

"Again, I figured. Hello, Elrohir, Elladan." She smiled warmly. "It's been awhile."

"Good morning."

"Hmm." Bernice surveyed the men and elves once more. "All right, I'm up. Who wants breakfast?"

The response was unanimous in the affirmative. Of course, she had known it would be.

* * *

**A/N: I'm trying to update once every other week at the least. We'll see how that goes. :) In good news, no surgery! Make my weekend and review? I know you're out there!**

**AiH**


	19. Breakfast Part 2

**Disclaimer: All hail the mighty corporations. I own nothing.**

**A/N: I think I'm going to try and update regularly every other week. I may update more often than that, but I can at least promise you a new chapter every second and fourth Friday of the month.**

* * *

There are few scents as enticing to a hungry human teenager as that of sizzling hot bacon. Even with her nose buried deep in the cushions of Haldir's couch, Sara's sleeping brain grew slowly aware of the tantalizing smell wafting into her nostrils. The girl woke and immediately sat up.

"Bacon?"

She could hear voices, laughter, chewing noises, and the slight pop of oil on a hot griddle. Eating bacon without her, were they? Half indignant, she got to her feet. A thin piece of white paper fluttered to the ground. Yawning and stretching, Sara picked it up. She turned the paper over to see a lobster chasing a shrieking girl whose head was on fire. Beneath the sketch was a phone number and the words "Just in case."

Grinning, Sara carefully tucked the note into the pocket of Orophin's pajama bottoms. Then the girl surrendered to her inner yearnings and followed her nose into the kitchen.

Bernie stood in front of the stove, regal in a tartan robe, her spatula serving as a scepter. Haldir, Rumil, Orophin, Legolas, Finley, Will, James, and two other elves sat around the kitchen table. Apparently oblivious to the newcomer, they were making serious inroads on plates stacked seven deep with pancakes, drowned in syrup, and surrounded by bacon. Sara almost started drooling.

"Sara?" No matter what kitchen she cooked in, Bernice was always aware of hunger and anyone who possessed it. "Want a plate?"

The teenager's huge eyes and overly enthusiastic nod were answer enough. The cook laughed and flipped two golden brown pancakes onto a clean plate. She added several slices of bacon. "Scoot over, boys."

Somehow, the nine eaters managed to condense, making room for Sara. She cheerfully joined them at the table, and the mass munching resumed. Two pounds of bacon and a half-gallon of pancake batter later, the group sat back, replete. Haldir rubbed his stomach. Eyes glowing with please, Bernie smiled at him. She enjoyed compliments – who didn't? – but clearing one's plate was the greatest praise of all.

For a moment no one spoke. Content as they were in their excellent breakfast and one another's company, there was no need for words. But then Sara's phone buzzed loudly in her pocket – technically Orophin's pocket – shattering the silence.

"'Scuse me. I've just got to take this." The girl hopped off her stool and retreated into the living room. "Hey, Mom. What's up? What time are Lynze and I leaving? I've got to check with her. No, I don't think she's up yet. Can I call you back? Oh. Yeah, I can text you. Love you, too! Bye!"

Flipping the phone shut, she stared at it in mute frustration. Sara had completely forgotten about going home today. As she'd only had two hours of sleep, perhaps that was forgivable. The phone buzzed again. It was Lynzey, texting her to ask where she was.

_Bloody hobgoblins. Can no one leave me alone_? Grumbling under her breath, Sara slouched back into the kitchen.

"How's your mum?" Finley seemed sincerely interested.

"Good. You've got syrup in your hair by the way. Did you know?"

Finley glanced at his hair out of the corner of his eyes. Sure enough, a few drops of pale brown pancake syrup clung to fine strands of bright red hair. The bartender shrugged. "I do now." He stuck the hair in his mouth and sucked the syrup off.

"That's disgusting. Why did you hire him again?"

Bernie grinned at her great-great-great-something-great-grandfather. "Because he doesn't ask too many annoying questions, and I can get away with paying him at minimum wage. Besides, this boy truly knows his alcohol."

"Twenty-seven, and I am not a boy."

"I'm thirty-three, and yes, you are."

Will and Norrington exchanged glances. "Well, I think it's our time to go." They got to their feet. "James and I want to go to the San Diego Zoo today and then spend the afternoon in Paris, so we'd better get moving. It was very nice to meet you all."

"Indeed," seconded James.

While Will said cheerful goodbyes to Fin, Sara, and Bernie (threatening this last if she didn't have grandchildren waiting for him by the time he got back), James laid a gentle hand on Legolas's shoulder.

"I'm glad to see you doing better," he said softly.

Legolas managed a wan smile. He was still trying to recover from bin chased by _Them _again. "I am trying," the elf replied, even more quietly.

Norrington smiled back. "If it ever becomes too much, you are welcome to come to the _Dutchman_ for a while."

No one in their right mind wanted to spend time on the _Dutchman_ if it was avoidable, even with Will as captain. Legolas understood the sentiment behind the offer, however, and responded to that. His smile brightened until it reached his eyes. "Thank you."

"Right, then, time to be off." Will turned to his first mate, practically beaming. It was a beautiful day, and they were off the ship. William Turner planned on enjoying every moment. James murmured a few goodbyes, and then the two men just . . . disappeared.

"Whoa . . ."

"Shut your mouth, Sara, or some nasty insect will fly into it. There's a girl." Bernie sounded almost maternal, and staring at the spot where Will and James had vanished, she definitely looked it. "You know, I think that friendship is turning out rather better than anyone ever expected. I am so glad they're not alone . . . Now, what are all your plans for the day? After you clean the kitchen, that is."

"Find a shirt," Haldir mumbled under his breath.

Finley sighed resignedly. "Clean up the 'Cat, work on my dissertation, call Faith."

"I thought Spike said she'll always end up with Angel?" Legolas had already made his way over to the sink.

"I don't like her; I'm studying her. There's a difference. Her domestic arrangements puzzle me. They require further study before I can properly analyze the psychological reasoning behind them."

"Whatever." Bernie dismissed her bartender and his doctoral studies with an airy hand. "And the rest of you?"

"Rumor has reached our ears of excessive orc activity in this city." Elladan joined Legolas at the sink to do dishes. "We will find these orcs and deal with them."

"How will you find them?" Sara asked, intrigued.

Elrohir glanced up from clearing the table. His clear grey eyes met her dark brown ones. Sara nearly shivered at the cold intelligence in those eyes. "We have a name, and orcs have never been renowned for their discretion."

"And the name is?" Sara wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer.

"Rupert."

Yup. She'd been right. Orophin looked disappointed and crestfallen, Haldir slightly abashed. Rumil, however, got defensive.

"Can't you just leave him alone? We need him. We get information from him."

"I had a feeling you might say that." Elrohir's thin face became even more grim than usual. "We are not in the habit of letting petty goblins become crime lords. Your friend has fifty orcs in his command. He must be dealt with."

Rumil frowned. Rupert was _not_ his friend. "Forgive me, Elrondion," he snarled in a sweet voice that fooled no one. "I had forgotten your jihad."

"Enough! We are kinsfolk, so stop fighting. Idiots." Elladan did not bother trying to hide his exasperation. "Yes, Rumil, orcs are sometimes useful for information. This lot has gotten out of hand, though. We are going to deal with them today. You'll have to find another informant, cousin. Elrohir, I know you're anxious to get rid of these vermin, but _please,_ let's not start a feud."

Elrohir and Rumil stared at one another grudgingly, then smiled and shook hands.

"We'll give them fair warning," Elrohir promised. His smile was suddenly all teeth. "Not that it will avail them much. Our steel works as well as it has always done." The elf gestured to the long, thin sword sheathed at his hip. He rested his hand comfortably on the silver pommel.

"Sorry about the jihad quip," apologized Rumil.

"Everyone has their fanatic moments," inserted Bernie. "It's when you let them extend beyond the moment that it causes a problem. Well, that's you lot taken care of. Legolas, Sara, what are your plans?"

The wood elf shrugged his shoulders elegantly. "I thought I might join the sons of Elrond in the hunt. If they will have me, that is."

"Of course." Elladan and Elrohir were surprised by genuinely delighted. "It has been far too long since we hunted together."

"Would you like to accompany us?" Elrohir asked the brothers Treegarth.

Haldir gracefully declined the invitation. "While I will not deny that I have greatly missed hunting with you, Rupert knows my brothers and me, which could make things complicated."

"We have absolutely no problem providing you with his address, though," Orophin added with a grin.

"He gave you his address?" Elrohir was dumbfounded. Really, orcs had gotten far dumber in this last century.

Orophin laughed. "No, no, he never intended to."

"Then how?"

Rumil was quite satisfied to accept the blame for this one. "I got bored. Decided I wanted to know where the little slug was – be prepared for when he double-crossed us and/or we finally decided to call you in. For all his security, Rupert really is naïve about flirtatious human actresses."

"Ah. I thank you then."

"My pleasure."

Sara didn't think she'd ever understand this twisted web of elven relationships. Listen and watch and try to connect the dots as she could, it still didn't all make sense. Apparently Bernice agreed with her, for the cook snorted loudly. "Men."

They pretended to be affronted. "Madam, we are elves. Not Men."

Bernice snorted even more loudly. Somehow, she made it sound refined. "So what are your plans, Sara?"

"Packing up, moving home . . ." Sara flushed blotchily. "I'd actually better get back soon. My friend Lynzey is driving me home, and it's at least a four-hour drive."

"Nonsense. Rumil and I will drive you. It will be a pleasure."

"You . . . You don't need to do that." Sara struggled to force the words out.

"Of course we don't need to. We want to. And we'll drive you all the way. It'll be fun. More interesting than rehearsing our lines anyway," Rumil added, smirking. _As if I need to rehearse my lines_, his smirk boasted.

"Well, that's settled then," Bernie smiled in satisfaction. "You'd better get along, then, Sara, if you're going to be packed up and on the road before noon."

The girl's expression fell. She didn't really want to go, to say goodbye to the fun, crazy whirlwind that had been her life for the last week and a half. Home was tame compared with this. But she did have to go home sometime, and if Orophin and Rumil were driving her, it probably wouldn't be that bad. "Yeah, you're right," she admitted. "I prolly do need to get home and finish my packing."

"We can drive you," Elladan offered. "We must prepare for tonight.'

"I'll come and help you pack."

Sara's face lit up. "Thanks, Legolas!"

"We'll pick you up in about two hours, okay, Sara? Is that enough time?" asked Orophin.

She paused for a moment to reflect on the extent of her previous packing. "Yeah, that should work." Then she turned to Legolas, eyes glinting with mischief. "That is, if you're any good at packing."

* * *

"For some reason, I imagined you'd have a lot more stuff," Rumil commented as he carried Sara's large suitcase to the car. Orophin followed with a heavy cardboard box of books, and Legolas brought up the rear, another box under one arm and Sara's bulging backpack over the other shoulder. Sara herself was lugging a borrowed ice chest with the few groceries she had forgotten to eat.

"Yeah, I try to pack light," she grunted, heaving the ice chest down the last few steps to the car. It was Orophin's little blue model, and the girl was honestly just praying that everything would fit.

She shouldn't have doubted. They quickly and efficiently managed to pack all of her things into the trunk and backseat while still leaving room for the driver to see out the back windshield. Stepping back to admire their handiwork, the elves congratulated one another. Sara listened to them, smiling slightly. Boy, was her mother in for a surprise when she got back!

Mrs. Gilley had been perfectly fine with her daughter's new friends driving her all the way home. Lynzey had been even more relieved, if possible, at not having to make the road trip. Gwyn and Jen had just gaped at the three gorgeous guys packing their roommate out. How had this happened? When had their never-been-kissed Sara turned into a hottie magnet? It wasn't fair, they mumbled quietly to one another, but still they couldn't take their eyes off the elves. They were actually glued to the living room window, unable to leave. If Sara got a kiss from one of those amazing men, they just might have to cry.

"Look!" Gwyn squealed, elbowing Jen. The hottest of the elves, the one with the green eyes, had stepped closer to Sara and was giving her a tight hug.

"Not fair," the girls moaned in unison. Their college boyfriends were hunky and well-muscled and handsome enough, but these blond friends of Sara's were in a league all their own.

"I wish I could hear what they were saying," Jen whispered as Sara stepped back from the hott blond. She could see their mouths moving, and Sara had a crazy happy smile on her face.

"We can." Gwyn opened the window with paralyzing slowness. The girls pressed their ears to the screen. They were rewarded with a few faint sentences.

"Thanks for the dance," the hott guy was saying.

"Good luck," Sara replied intensely. She was looking steadily at Mr. Hott Stuff, and her smile wasn't crazy anymore. Instead, somehow it had changed to sad.

"I think it's time to go," said the shortest man, the one who had driven up in that beautiful car.

"Farewell." And the hottest guy vanished. Just like that. One moment he was there, the next he was gone. Gwyn and Jen rubbed their eyes in consternation. Looking up just in time, they watched Sara and the other two hott men pile into the car.

"It's not fair," Jen repeated as the car drove away. She slid the window shut dejectedly. "Some girls have all the luck."

* * *

**A/N: To make this next chapter a little bit more fun, for every person who reviews, I will include a sentence of their choosing into the next update. So feel free to go to town! **

**Until next time,  
AiH **


	20. Cooooookies

**Disclaimer: Tolkien pwns the world. And everything in it.**

**A/N: And once a week it is! On with the story...**

* * *

It was a good thing Orophin was driving, Sara reflected, two hours into their journey home. Rumil had never been down this highway before, and he kept whipping his head around every few seconds to stare out a different window. Watching him from the backseat, the girl felt slightly nauseous. Although she'd never seen the sea, much less been sick upon it, she fancied seasickness must feel something like this.

"I'm gonna puke," she grumbled to herself, forgetting the keen hearing of elves.

"What?" Orophin removed his eyes from the road for the merest fraction of a second. "Rumil, stop that."

"Stop what?"

Annoyed, his brother drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Quit weaving back and forth. You'll give yourself whiplash. And Sara's gets sick. If she vomits in my car, you will have to clean it up."

Rumil frowned but refrained from further movement. Orophin meant what he said about cleaning the car. "How long till we get there?"

"Two hours."

"How is it I've lived for thousands of years, and yet two hours in a car still feels like an eternity?"

"We could always play the alphabet game," suggested Sara.

And thus the two hours passed more quickly, the passengers scouring the countryside with their eyes in search of billboards, license plates, and road signs while the driver muttered derisively under his breath in no less exalted a language than Quenya. In due time, the immaculate blue car exited the interstate onto a skinny two lane state highway that lacked a shoulder. The driver's mumbling increased in vehemence even as his passengers lamented the lack of further billboards.

Twenty minutes later, the highway passed through a small town, population 5,621. They turned off the main street onto Kiowa Ave. and then pulled into the driveway of a single-story red brick house with turquoise shutters. Sara smiled in spite of herself. She loved those shutters.

"Here we are, and out we go," Rumil said cheerfully as Orophin shifted into park. "Everyone's alive, Orophin is only slightly more insane than he was before" –

"Watch it, you!" his brother threatened mockingly.

"I only say it because it's the truth."

Stepping out of the car, Orophin waved this away. "Sara, we'll unload the car while you go in and say hello."

Sara blinked at him gratefully, then she was off, running up to the house. Confident her mother was home, she threw open the unlocked front door and walked in. " Mom, I'm here!"

"Hey, honey!" Mrs. Gilley came from the kitchen, the tantalizing smell of chocolate chip cookies wafting in behind her. "You're home!" She held out her arms, and Sara rushed into them. Secure in her mother's embrace, the girl closed her eyes. There was just something special about Mom hugs.

"I made you cookies," her mom said, smiling, when they broke apart. "Figured you'd be in soon. Where are your friends, dear?"

Here came the rough part. How did you introduce the elvish friends you met less than two weeks ago to your incredibly down-to-earth mother?

She shouldn't have worried. Rumil and Orophin swept in with the majority of her luggage, asking politely where it went. They complimented Mrs. Gilley on her lovely house and her intelligent daughter, inquired delicately as to the status of the chocolate chip cookies, and introduced themselves as good friends of Sara's Intro to Bio TA and thus of Sara herself.

"Hal's especially good with anatomy," Rumil added. He just couldn't help himself.

Sara turned beet red. Trying to pass her laughing fit off as a nasty cough, she retreated to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Rumil's snarky comments aside, her daughter's new friends charmed Mrs. Gilley. She thanked them profusely for bringing her nineteen-year-old home and sent them on their way an hour later laden with dozens of cookies – three dozens, to be exact. Brow furrowed, Sara watched them go, not a small part of her wishing she could leave with them. But then her mother reminded her that there were another dozen cookies in the oven and that Valerie was on the phone, and she stopped moping.

* * *

"You have to admit that mortals are doing fairly well for themselves," Elladan observed casually, sliding his fine shirt of closely welded mithril links over a short-sleeved white T. He sighed. "Miriel always said that mithril brought out my eyes."

Elrohir buttoned a thick jacket over his own mithril coat. "You know she just said that to flatter you immensely. And that now she's off shagging that Paculelf from New Brunswick."

His twin winced violently. "Elrohir!"

"The sooner we adjust to the truth, the better off we are," his younger brother shrugged. "You used to like being single. Here." Elrohir tossed Elladan his leather bracers. "Anyway, I don't know if I'd say that mortals are doing _well_."

"They have airplanes," Elladan pointed out unnecessarily as the roar of take-off shook their small hotel room. When hunting, these elves were cheap.

"Yeah, well, planes crash."

"And clowns kill, apparently," the older twin added, glancing at the television which had been left on loud to camouflage the noise of the brothers' preparations. Some story was playing about a psycho killer clown.

"Watching television again, mellyn?" Legolas strode out of the bathroom and joined the sons of Elrond in donning light armor. "Even Rumil would tell you that TV rots your brains." The elf surveyed the suitcase full of armor on the queen bed behind Elrohir and began to hunt through it, whistling.

"You're cheerful."

"Just ready for the hunt. Yes, this will do." Legolas slipped into a spare mithril corselet. He was already wearing his own bracers and good Elvish boots. Not the silly ones humans wore to ride horses, or heaven forbid, look stylish. These were the real deal. "Thanks again for the loan. What do we fight with tonight?"

"Swords, knives, bows." Elladan recited the litany with a grim smile. "All the old weapons."

"Too bad we can't fight on horseback. It would draw too much attention in this city. Our last hunt was in a rural area. Now that was worthwhile."

Legolas frowned slightly, halfway through tugging a sweatshirt on over his mithril. "Do you ever hunt with Men anymore?"

Elrohir looked at him, grey eyes soft and sad. "The Dúnadan are died out. You know that. Who else would we fight with? Who could possibly understand all of this?" He gestured expressively to the armor, the swords, and the three longbows leaned up against a wall by the door.

"I know. It's just . . ." The wood elf tried and failed to smile. "My heart yearns for Aragorn. It has for years, you know."

The sons of Elrond each placed a hand on his shoulder. They passed a moment in silent remembrance of their foster brother and friend.

"They should never have sent you back," Elladan fumed quietly, at last returning to the lacing up of his bracers. "You deserved to rest."

"Nay, gwador. Not even in Tól Eressëa could I rest."

"You see, Elladan? It was a good thing we've never yet made up our minds about seeking out the Havens. We'd still burn cold, even there. Too many injustices we must make right."

"Hmm." Legolas's face brightened as a new idea came to him. "Speaking of injustices… perhaps next time you could teach me to hunt _Them_ rather than orcs, eh, mellyn?"

"Done." Elladan finally finished lacing up his bracers. "_They_ squeal a good deal more, anyway."

* * *

Sara Gilley had been home for six hours, and already she was going crazy. She'd nearly gotten in an argument with her brother – John was fifteen and a junior in high school and preoccupied with video games and _annoying_. Val had swung by for a bit, and they'd traded work and college stories while eating a giant bowl of popcorn. Unfortunately, the older girl had work at six. And so for the last two hours, Sara had sat in her room, toying with the idea of unpacking.

It was now eight o'clock, and she had yet to touch a suitcase. The sun still hovered over the western horizon. Another forty-five minutes, and it would be gone completely. Sara stared out her window, nearly overcome by the urge to do something _EPIC_. This sitting around was _not_ acceptable.

Enough! The girl reached for her sneakers. After tugging them on, she made a quick phone call. No answer. How not surprising. Whatever. Sara got to her feet and ran to tell her mom she was taking the car. Surprisingly acquiescent, Mrs. Gilley had no problem with it. Even though her daughter had not driven in almost a year, she trusted her. It was just a short drive out of town. How much trouble could she get into?

Bad question. Trouble was just what Sara felt like getting into. She slipped into the driver's seat of her mom's Corolla and adjusted the mirrors automatically. Backing out into the street, Sara rehearsed her plan. 8:00 on a summer evening, of course they would be there. Speedometer needle hovering just barely over the speed limit, she cruised out of town. The five-mile stretch of highway felt like pure freedom after the 25 mph downtown. Accelerating smoothly, the Corolla reached 65 in no time. The turn-off came way too soon. Braking with a touch of regret, Sara turned onto a county road. She followed this for half a mile before turning onto a gravel driveway bordered by bright wildflowers.

At the end of the drive sat a sprawling adobe ranch-style house, a weathered old tin barn, and a pasture full of cows. Sara parked on her usual grassy spot by the garage door and stepped out. The cows glanced up at the newcomer, then returned to their grazing. She did not have feed for them and was therefore uninteresting. Hands stuck in her pockets, Sara inhaled the fresh air deeply. Like her house, this place hadn't changed a jot.

For a moment, she considered going in. She knew this house as well as Val's and almost as well as her own. The mom would be cooking dinner, the kids – okay, teenagers – doing homework since they weren't outside doing chores. The dad probably wasn't back from work yet. Sara eyed the mud boots lined up neatly on the front porch, confident that if she went in, she would be welcome. But did she want to?

Before Sara could entirely make up her mind, her thoughts were violently interrupted. A maroon pick-up came hurtling down the road, honking its horn loudly at the slight figure on horseback fleeing before it. Not fleeing, Sara amended, watching her second best friend as she jumped a ditch and wove through a collection of mailboxes. Racing.

Crenna checked her mount at the gravel driveway, and they whirled to face the oncoming truck, five yards from the road. The pickup rushed past her, its driver rolling down the windows long enough to yell a _nasty_ insult.

"You can keep your diseased chickens!" Crenna shouted back. Looking up towards her house, she caught sight of the silver Corolla and the girl leaning against it. "Gim!" She urged the horse forwards with voice and hands. They galloped the length of the driveway and stopped a foot from Sara. Dropping the reins, she flung herself out of the saddle and tackle-hugged Sara. The girls nearly toppled to the ground. "You're home!"

"I can't breathe."

"Oh. Sorry." Instantly penitent, Crenna released her and stepped back. "Hey. You're back. You look good."

Sara surveyed her friend. "So do you."

And honestly, she did. Sara was an inch or two shorter than the younger girl, and the blue-gray eyes that glinted merrily down at her were the same as they had always been. Although it was only the middle of May, sleeves rolled up past her shoulders revealed tan arms and some highly impressive muscles. Crenna dressed as she always did at home, worn blue jeans over boots and a T-shirt that had seen _much_ better days. She radiated an aura of good health, which Sara found comforting.

"Want to help me put up Shiva?"

Eyebrows raised, Sara glanced at the dark grey gelding grazing behind Crenna. "Shiva?"

The other girl shrugged. "You know, the Destroyer?"

"I know, Cren. Seriously, though . . . Shiva?"

Another shrug. "He's built like a short draft, even though he's pure mustang. And you saw how fast he can run . . . That wasn't even third gear."

Understanding Crenna's made-up horse lingo always took some effort. Sara didn't feel up t it this time, so she just smiled.

"Come on, Shiv." Crenna reached for the reins and gently pulled her horse's head up. "We're still a little new to the whole 'behaving-yourself' thing," she explained, leading Shiv towards the open garage. Sara followed. "Six-year-old mustangs take some training. But my Horse-Whisperer friend helped. He's Navajo, you know. How was school?"

While Sara went through the main highlights and lowlights of her last semester, Crenna coaxed the spooky gelding into the garage. She unsaddled him with quick, dexterous fingers, still listening.

The grulla gelding watched his rider carefully as she hung up saddle, pad, and bridle. Nostrils flared wildly, Shiva kept his fine boned face pointed at Crenna even as his pale gray ears, dark at the tips, swiveled to listen to Sara. Stocky with muscle, Shiv was indeed built like a draft horse. Riding him felt like riding a minor earthquake. He was claustrophobic, paranoid, intelligent, and extremely stubborn. Of course, Crenna loved him whole-heartedly.

Sara drew her tale of finals week to a close, then regarded her audience, deciding. She had failed to mention the 'Cat and was now wondering if she should . . . if she dared.

"Sounds like a tough semester," Crenna observed, brushing the dirt and sweat from Shiv's coat with quick, firm strokes. "You going back?"

"Actually think I'm gonna go to London next semester. I've almost got all the paperwork and Visas and finances ironed out and everything . . ." To tell or not to tell?

Her friend was visibly thrilled. "That's awesome!" Hoof pick in hand, she moved to her gelding's feet. "I'll miss you."

"Miss you too." Sara wasn't really thinking about the words. Should she tell Crenna? Crenna who was as well-read as she was? The girl who had gotten into Northwestern, who played in the band with her little brother, who yelled at truck drivers for frightening her crazy horse? Crenna, who could dance for hours, who couldn't do a cartwheel to save her life, who wore her emotions on her sleeves? Crenna, who more than anyone else reminded Sara of things that were real and present and normal?

"Time to go eat, Shiv." Crenna tossed her hoof pick into a five gallon plastic bucket and led the gelding out of the garage. Out in the evening air, he tossed his head. They walked to the gate of a pasture behind the house – this one cow-free. Shiva followed the girl through the gate and waited patiently for her to shut it. The two meandered a short distance from the gate and stood, heads together, for a moment. Then Crenna undid his halter and returned to the garage.

"Want to go to dinner?" she asked Sara, tidying up. "There's a new place in town. Apparently tonight is opening night."

Still deep in thought, Sara didn't look up. "What kind of place?" It'd have to be really good to beat Bernie's cooking.

"Well, it's no greasy spoon burger joint" – Crenna's personal favorite – "but my mom was excited to try it."

"What's it called?"

"The Tipsy Cat. Rather a scurrilous name in a small Christian town like this."

_The Tipsy Cat?_ Sara's heart started pounding. It couldn't be. No, it just couldn't. "Haha, that is kind of shady," she laughed weakly.

Suddenly Crenna looked up, and the girls' eyes met. Sara blinked rapidly, hardly believing the shrewdness in that blue-gray gaze.

"You know."

"All I know is that I got a call from some lady this morning asking me to bring you there tonight. She said she had answers for you."

"Oh . . ." Sara was too shell-shocked to react.

"Yeah. Let's go." Crenna hit the lights as they left the garage. "Just let me go tell Mom." She ran inside and came back out half a minute later.

The girls got in the Corolla, Sara still hopelessly lost in her own head.

"Sara?"

"Yeah?"

Buckling her seatbelt, Crenna frowned. "That lady also said something about Elves. She said you had seen the Elves. Why didn't you tell me?"

* * *

**A/N: Kudos to Eavis and Ames for sending me lines to put in! The 100th reviewer gets to submit a line of their choosing to the next chapter. So do a poor student AiH a kindness and review? :)**


	21. Milkshakes

**Disclaimer: It all belongs to Tolkien.**

**A/N: Here's a shout out to "a happy fan" who was the 100th reviewer and gave me an idea for something to slip in this chapter. I had fun writing it, so here's to hoping you have fun reading it. Now on with the story!**

* * *

When Sara failed to answer the question, Crenna didn't repeat it. Instead, she quietly gave directions to The Tipsy Cat and counted the hefty wad of dollar bills in her wallet. Halfway to town, Sara recovered enough to turn on the radio.

"Rah, rah, turn out the lights, what's the dealio? I love when it's all too much, 5 a.m. turn the radio up, where's the rock and roll?" Cren sang along softly. Never one to resist the music, she gave in to the beat and started dancing.

Torn between guilt, confusion, frustration, and a whole peck of other nasty emotions, Sara drove more cautiously than her mother. Her hands clenched the steering wheel tightly to keep from shaking. Just when she had almost accepted the fact that she was home all summer, Bernie stepped in and changed things. Would she ever find equilibrium?

The Tipsy Cat was set up on one of the town's larger side streets. It was not the trendy place Sara had discovered a few short weeks ago. This 'Cat had taken over a small tin burger joint. An appallingly fluorescent sign hung just above the door.

"Bye-bye Burger Time," sighed her friend as the girls got out of the car.

Sara hesitated in front of the door. Although she longed to go in, she was mildly terrified of what she would find. Gutsy as ever, Crenna banged the door open with a hip and dragged her in. There were a few teenagers inside, a family with two young kids, and an elderly couple, scattered all around the tiny restaurant. Mercilessly pulling Sara up to the counter, Crenna rang the bell.

"Come on back!" yelled a familiar voice. Sara's knees went weak.

"Why did you do that?" she hissed to her friend. "What if you just pulled a Diggory Kirke?"

"The lady hardly sounded like Jadis on the phone," Crenna shrugged, pushing open the kitchen door. Somehow, Sara refrained from asking her how she knew what Jadis sounded like.

They stepped into a small kitchen that was nonetheless gleaming and immaculate. Bernie was waiting for them, her brown hair bushy as ever. Her hazel eyes glinted merrily, as if she'd just pulled off some tremendous joke. An apron covered in Technicolor cows and old sauce stains protected her jeans and cobalt blue top. Rosalind the calico cat ran out from behind the fridge to weave her way through the girls' ankles.

"Surprise," announced the fry cook ironically as Crenna dropped to one knee and began to pet the cat. "Didn't expect that one, did you?"

"What the heck . . .?" Floundering, Sara leaned against he kitchen table. "Bernie, what are you doing? Why?"

Bernie withdrew a sequined gray headband from her apron pocket and used it to tame her wild mane. The flimsy accessory looked rather incongruous up there amidst the tangled, frizzy mass. "Found this thing in the kitchen this afternoon," she explained, catching Sara staring at the shiny headband. "Not sure where it came from, but you use what you got. Now as for your questions, I decided I wanted to try running a smaller place. And there's a different kind of hoi polloi in a town like this. Not to mention I fired Fin."

"You fired Fin?" Sara gasped, thankful that Crenna was too involved with the cat to be listening.

The cook shrugged. "Just until July. He's got to gather research for his thesis if he's _ever_ going to graduate and get a real job. How can the boy support his future family if he never gets a real job? Anywhat'sits, since the sons of Elrond are hunting tonight, it's a good time to get out of the city. What's more, the cat likes you." She nodded to Rosalind, who was currently curled up in Crenna's arms, purring like a race car engine.

"Rose? Or the restaurant?"

Smiling slightly, Bernie gave her a queer look. "The 'Cat can't exist without the cat, my dear. None of this would be possible. That's what I've been wanting to tell you."

"You mean . . . wait." Sara shoved this new information to the back of her head. She had a question to ask first. "Speaking of telling, what on Earth did you tell Cren?"

"Told her I was a friend of yours and that I needed to see you, mentioned the Elves as a kicker. Had to say something to make her bring you. Hmm. She is quite the animal person, isn't she?"

Sara sighed. "Why'd you have to bring her into this?"

Bernie raised a bushy eyebrow. "Wanting to keep all the hott Elves to yourself, is that it? Or are you afraid your friend is one of _Them_?"

"I can hear you, you know," Crenna pointed out, setting the cat on the floor with one last pet.

"Oops."

Crenna grinned at her mortified friend. "Just 'cuz I'm looking at the cat doesn't mean I've gone deaf. I worked at Burger Time this school year – how 'bout I clean up after your customers while you two have your talk?" She walked away before they could answer, her easy stride somehow turning her old ranch clothes into a fashion statement. Sara would tell her everything later, whether Sara knew it yet or not, and there was no point in worrying until she did.

"You know," Bernie commented after Crenna had disappeared through the swinging door, "I think I like her." Her expression became suddenly business-like. "Have you found a job yet?"

"No. I just got here at two." Sara was beginning to empathize with Fin's near-constant exasperation with his boss.

"Would you like to work for me? I know I asked you before, but this time I really need the help. I'm taking some courses on medieval lit this summer, and I really can't concentrate on customers."

"Of course I'll work for you." Where was the angle? Trust Bernie to always have an angle.

"I want her, too."

"Her? Oh, Crenna. Why?"

"Rose likes her. She also wants to meet your friend Valerie. We could use a few new waitresses, actually. I'm thinking of totally reworking my menu."

"Does Rosalind _talk_?"

Bernie looked at her pityingly. "Everything can talk, Sara. You just have to learn how to listen. But don't worry. It's a long summer. There will be time to teach you."

The nineteen-year-old stared at her blankly for a long moment, then turned on her heel and left. She collected Crenna from the front room where she was cleaning tables.

"C'mon. Let's go to Sonic. I need a milkshake. I've got a story to tell you."

The girls piled back in the car, and Sara turned the radio back on. It would take a few minutes to get her thoughts in order.

"Shut up and put your money where your mouth is. That's what you get for waking up in Vegas," sang Katy Perry – and Crenna.

As she drove, Sara wondered, _If that's what you get for waking up in Vegas, what do you get for waking up in Tolkien?_

* * *

A week passed while Sara struggled to connect the two dissonant halves of her life. Crenna had accepted her long story with a quiet "I knew Elves were out there somewhere. Glad you found them" and then said nothing more about it. Valerie found the existence of _Them_ to be curiouser and curiouser. She attempted to wheedle Dean's number out of Sara, but that was one thing the girl would not share, not even with her best friends. She didn't tell her mother or her brother, not wanting to bother the one and not wanting to talk to the other.

On Tuesday, she started her new job. Bernie acted as normal as it was possible for her to act. She had yet to find any men in this town to flirt with and was feeling despondent. On Wednesday, Sara mastered the art of the soda machine at work and promptly downed a suicide glass of cherry Coke/pink lemonade/Sprite/Dr. Pepper. Miraculously, she didn't throw up. Thursday, Val was off work, and the two besties spent their entire day – and half the night – watch a Psych marathon. Friday brought Crenna's high school graduation. Afterwards, Sara was somehow talked into going dancing.

Sara didn't dance. She didn't like to, she wasn't any good, she'd only danced at the Elven feast because Legolas asked her to . . . Her friends listened to the excuses and ignored them all. Crenna had that steely look in her eyes, and Val thought it would be fun. As did Crenna's six newly graduated classmates who wanted to come along.

Half an hour later, the young woman found herself piled in the back of somebody's Suburban with a pack of girls in their cute little graduation dresses. Since Val was the only person over 21, they drove to a dance club for teens in the next town over. Remembering her last club experience, Sara vehemently did not want to get out of the car and go in. No one listened to her. She was removed bodily from the backseat and frog-marched into the club by the two giggliest girls in the group.

"I'm going to get you for this," she shouted to Crenna as they entered the cavernous room full of flashing lights, thrashing bodies, and a pounding bass.

Grinning, Crenna tugged her onto the dance floor. The DJ was playing some Lady Gaga nonsense about card games. Sara figured it was probably really about sex. Why were all songs really about sex these days? Rotten-minded world. Sex or no sex, the song had a great beat, and Sara soon found herself moving to it. First her toes, then her hips, and finally her entire body was swaying and twisting and – great Oz! – writhing to the music.

Thankfully, Val and Crenna stuck by her and kept the suggestiveness in their dancing to a bare minimum as everyone else went crazy. The DJ segued from Gaga to Usher to 3OH!3 to Ke$ha to Bieber. Sara had never known that pop music could be so addictive. It was like eating chocolate chips straight out of the bag or sneaking cookie dough out of the fridge. You listened to one song, and then you listened to the next, and your heart kept pounding and your body kept moving until all that mattered was this strangely catchy music.

Partway through some ridiculous song about doing all sorts of inappropriate things over the weekend, someone taped her on the shoulder. "Sara?"

The girl froze momentarily, horrified. She knew that voice. Sara turned slowly to see Legolas and the sons of Elrond, all three dressed in tight black jeans and plaid button-up shirts, left open two buttons below the collar. Their hair was shiny and silky and pulled back into ponytails at the base of their skulls. They looked, if it were possible, even hotter than normal.

"Hi," Sara squeaked out, acutely aware that she had been caught in a mortifying, while not actually compromising, situation. "What're you guys doing here?"

"Trolling, apparently," Valerie snorted, giving the Elves an appraising look.

"I thought it was trawling?" Crenna came forward to stand on Sara's other side.

"Nah. That's for crabs. These guys aren't interested in crabs."

"Not to mention crabs rarely inhabit night clubs. Eh, Sara?"

"Exactly." Sara picked up the thread where her friends left off with it. "So since you're not trolling – or trawling – for crabs, what are you trolling for?"

They had formed a clot in the middle of the dance floor, and people were shooting them nasty looks. After one particularly virulent glare, Legolas extended his hand to Sara. "Come on. Let's discuss this outside."

"There's discussing to be done?" hissed Val to Crenna under her breath.

"I guess so," the younger girl replied distractedly as they followed Sara and the Elves out to the parking lot. She was comparing the two dark-haired Elves. One wore red, the other blue, and their faces were, as far as she could tell, identical. Obviously their names were Elladan and Elrohir. But which was which?

"Elrohir." The one in blue glanced over his shoulder and almost smiled at her. "This is Elladan." He inclined his head towards his twin.

Well, that answered that question. Crenna studied the backs of the sons of Elrond's heads very intently. They wouldn't always be wearing red and blue, and what would she do then?

Sara led the group over to the far side of a beat-up red Ford F250 where they couldn't be seen from the door. "Okay, spill. What's up?" Examining the Elves in the much clearer outside air, she wrinkled her nose. "Why do you look like jailbait?"

Torn between taking offense and laughing, Legolas settled for a coughing fit. Elrohir pounded him forcefully on the back, leaving Elladan to respond.

"Technically, it is you and your friends who are dressed like jailbait." The Elf looked pointedly at Val's black leather pants and hot pink highlights, Crenna's knee-length blue dress and two-inch heels, and Sara's own sleeveless top. "We are just dressed like Men out looking for jailbait." Realizing belatedly what he'd just said, Elladan flushed pink all the way to the tips of his slightly pointed ears.

"Nicely done, brother," Elrohir commented dryly as the three girls burst into giggles. Val and Sara clutched each other to keep from falling over, they were shaking so hard.

"Sorry," Crenna gasped, holding her stomach as she laughed. "We know what you meant, but that sounded _really_ bad."

Disgruntled by their excessive merriment, the older son of Elrond frowned. His blush did not fade – if anything, it deepened. "Are you three quite finished?"

"We're good." The girls untangled themselves and straightened up, brushing their hair back into place with their fingers.

"So why are you out looking for jailbait?" asked Val. If these hott Elves were after jailbait, hey, she could definitely be jailbait.

Reading some of this in her eyes and face, Legolas took a hasty step backwards. "We are trying to track a group of _Them_. The same group we countered last weekend. Apparently there aren't enough people whose lives need ruining in Forks, Washington."

"Most of the things in Forks to attract _Them_ aren't technically alive."

The wood elf glanced at Crenna in surprise.

"Bibliophile, okay? Sara, care to explain?"

Sara sighed. Why did she always get these jobs? "Forks is home to a coven of vampires. Vampires are undead, so they aren't alive. Although why they call themselves a coven is a complete mystery to me."

"Like Angel and Spike, Faith's friends?"

"Nothing so virile, I'm afraid." Had those words actually just come out of her mouth? They must have, for the sons of Elrond and her friends were sniggering like nobody's business. Oh, drat. "They're pale and annoying. As is their favorite human."

Confused, Legolas wrinkled his forehead in puzzlement. "They have a human? Vampires keep people as pets?" Faith, thought undoubtedly scary and fiercely devoted to her friends, was definitely no one's pet.

"I think they call it true love, but let's go with pet. It fits better. So why are _They_ in my neighborhood?" Anywhere within an hour's drive of Sara's house counted as her neighborhood.

Elrohir shrugged. "_They_ hunt us as we hunt _Them_. It's an intricate dance."

"Except you want to kill _Them_, and _They_ want to do the nasty with you."

"Thanks for that lovely mental image, Val. I think I'm going to go Lysol my brain." Sara shook her head vigorously to clear it. "Speaking of hunting, how'd taking out that bunch of orcs go?"

Elladan smiled wolfishly. The girls shivered, suddenly very glad that he and his brother weren't hunting them. "Very well. Very well, indeed. Thank you for asking."

"Would have been better if Gimli was there."

"Legolas . . ."

"I'm just saying . . . he and I would have had a contest. Our usual game of who can kill the most orcs."

"And on that rather revolting and deeply disturbing note, would you guys be willing to drive us home? 'Cuz Val works at eight tomorrow morning, and something tells me Liza and the gang won't be done dancing for hours. Will they, Cren?"

"Nope. Club closes at 2:30. They'll leave at 2:29." Crenna knew her friends and their unquenchable thirst for dancing all too well.

"How 'bout it? We promise not to act like jailbait," grinned Val.

"Too late for that," Legolas mumbled so quietly that only Elladan and Elrohir heard him.

Chuckling softly, Elladan turned to his brother. "Think we have room?"

"Maybe. If they don't inhale for the entire trip."

"Funny."

"Thank you, Miss Gilley. I've been practicing that line for the last century." Elrohir couldn't keep form smirking. It was a paradoxical expression. On the one hand, the smirk made him so devastatingly handsome that you wanted to swoon. On the other, it was so blasted aggravating that you were dying to slap him.

Still smirking, the Elf led the way to a shiny black SUV. "We felt like being dramatic tonight," he explained, opening the back door for Crenna. "Admittedly, a coal black destrier would have been more fun" –

"Not if you were trying to fit six people on it. Unless it was a giant's horse. And giants don't exist . . . or do they?"

"Not in Middle-earth, Val," Sara answered wryly, thinking of Bernie's ginormous cauldron and her giantess friend.

She climbed into the back seat with Legolas. Crenna and Elrohir were talking destriers and palfreys in the middle. The newly graduated senior was intrigued by how horse breeds had changed over the passing millennia. Unable to resist showing off her horse, she invited the Elves to come out sometime and meet Shiva. Up front, Valerie was giving Elladan concise directions to Sara's house.

Glancing around at Legolas, Sara smiled. "Congratulations! You've gone from running to hunting _Them_ in seven short days. I think you owe me a story."

* * *

**Author's Note: And so the adventure continues! Today's my sixth anniversary on the site, so I thought I'd post today instead of yesterday. As always, reviews are greatly appreciated. **

**Until next time,  
AiH **


	22. Coke Syrup and Smelling Salts

**Disclaimer: Roses are Red, Violets are Blue. AiH owns nothing, and neither do you.**

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. Organic chemistry tried to eat me alive. This chapter may be a wee bit angsty, but it's necessary angst. On with the story!**

* * *

Sara had never expected that the Elves would worm themselves into her life with such ridiculous ease. Then again, they _were_ Elves, and preternatural grace was kinda their thing. Still, it was rather bizarre to wake up in the morning and find Legolas making pancakes with her mother or come home from work to find the sons of Elrond playing Halo 3 with her younger brother. It wasn't that the Elves had moved in. Rather, they just kept popping up at the most random times, usually with no explanations whatsoever. They would drop in unannounced for meals or spend hours at the 'Cat on a single order of fries and endless glasses of water or come by after a long night of hunting, grimy and sweaty and positively exultant. Rumil and Orophin and Haldir had stopped by several times as well. Apparently things between Hal and Bernie were getting pretty serious.

John had no idea why the awesome twins had started hanging out with his weird sister, but since they were generally willing to play video games – and they pwned at video games – he wasn't going to complain. Mrs. Gilley would have preferred that her daughter have slightly younger friends – and perhaps a more even ratio of guys to girls. She didn't complain, however. They were all very polite, and they never made messes. They even seemed to be a good influence on Sara. The two brothers she had met at first were always so cheerful, and even the quieter ones weren't bad. They weren't half as sulky as teenagers, that was for sure.

The whole thing fairly boggled Sara's mind. Elves. Elves in her kitchen and her living room and at her work. Elves who liked her and teased her and went out of their way to spend time with her. She had no idea why. Why they found a slightly crazy, practically mediocre mortal girl such excellent company was totally beyond her. Especially when the majority of _Them_ were teenage girls. It was all so confusing. The weirdest thing of all, though, definitely had to be Legolas and Crenna.

Legolas and Crenna! What a strange phrase! But ever since the morning after that first night, they'd been getting closer, until they were nigh on inseparable in their free time. Sara was fighting back her jealousy with minor success. She should have known. Once Legolas set eyes on that handsome grey gelding and once Crenna realized the extent of the elf's horse skills, a friendship between them had been only a matter of time. And now, alas, friends they were, and sometimes Sara worried that she was going to get edged out of the middle. But then Cren and Legolas would come over and talk with her more than they did with each other, and her worries seemed unfounded.

Not that Sara had a crush on Legolas. She wasn't that stupid. It just surprised her sometimes how well the elf got on with her friend who obviously had stars in her eyes. Crenna would have told her that the stars were a hundred percent hero worship; Legolas put her Navajo horse-whisperer friend to shame. Sometimes Crenna even resented the ease with which Legolas communicated with horses. What took immense effort and concentration for her came easily as breathing to him.

To make things even more awkward, Val had been working crazy hours at the local Wal-Mart, so she hadn't been around much. When she was, she'd usually come over to watch Psych, tease John, and flirt with whatever Elves were hanging out at the house. The older girl had been keeping careful tabs on the teenage girls who passed by her cash register. It was not uncommon for _Them_ to go on a nail polish and ice cream shopping rampage.

Tonight, Sara was working at the 'Cat from five till eleven. Haldir had dropped her off at the restaurant, hinting ominously about something the sons of Elrond had planned for that evening. Whatever. Sara just wanted her $7.50 an hour and a cold shower. Bernie's new premises always made her feel greasy. And slightly nauseous. Her food was superb, as always, but the old Burger Time diner wasn't clean, not by a long shot.

"How was your Sunday?" Bernie asked conversationally, passing her a giant rack of clean silverware and a stack of napkins. Except for themselves, the café was deserted. "Shouldn't have a rush til six, so you might as well get started."

Sara began folding napkins around knives and forks. "It was good, thanks. Hey, Bernie?"

"Yeah?"

"You got a minute?"

The cook glanced at her oven. "Pie's still cooking, so I've actually got thirteen. What's on your mind?"

"A lot." The girl frowned down at her silverware rolls, wishing she could make them look immaculate like Bernie's. "If I ask you some questions, will you give me straight answers?"

"If I can. Shoot."

"Okay. I've got a lot, but I'm gonna start with the big one. Why me? I mean, I've dreamt of things like this happening, but that's it. They were just dreams. Why, with all the girls – all the people – in the world, why do Legolas and Haldir and his brothers and the sons of Elrond like me? Why me?"

"Because you're not one of _Them_. Here." Bernie reached over and began to fold silverware.

"Neither are at least 33% of the girls in this world and hopefully 70-odd percent of the guys. I just don't get it. At first, I was astounded by their interest. Now I get ridiculously jealous of Crenna and Val when the Elves tease or flirt with them. What's happening to me?"

Absorbing this information in silence, Sara's boss slowly began to frown. "I forgot. And I bet the boys did, too. I'll have to remind them. When they meet a girl who isn't an elf or one of _Them_, if they aren't careful, they can turn her into one of _Them_."

"So why aren't you one of _Them_?" Sara moved on to the next question on her list. "I mean, you've had affairs with nearly every available gorgeous male from the other – Realms, is it? How come you aren't a 'Sue?"

"Because I'm an overweight fry cook in her thirties who found a kitten in a trash can the day after graduating culinary school. I'd never had a boyfriend. But once I got Rosa, everything started working out. I found premises, opened a small café, hired my idiot teenage cousin to run the counter. And then one day he came in."

"Who?"

"The Doctor. He ordered a grilled cheese sandwich, talked with me for a bit. Then he picked up my little kitten and told her sternly that he hoped she knew what she was doing. And then it all began . . . At first it took a while getting used to – talking to a cat, jumping times and dimensions two, three, four times a night. It was all so bizarre that when men started flirting with me and asking me out, I said yes. Never dated a normal guy since. Some days I think it's all a dream. Just something I made up in my head. One morning I'll wake up and be that student in her twenties working twelve hour shifts at my friend's parents' bakery. But then you came along and got introduced to all of this, so there goes that theory."

"But what about Fin? I mean, he already knew about the 'Cat."

Bernie snorted. "Fin's a psychology major, sweetheart. He'll go along with anything that gives him material for his dissertation. No . . . And now I'm stuck with the worse alternative. One of these days, Rosie's going to die. She's a cat. She can't live forever. When that happens, all of this will just fade away. Like it never was. Haldir says the Elves will still be here, but I'm not sure I believe him.

"Anyway," she continued in a much brisker tone, clapping Sara on the shoulder, "that's the last of the silverware, and I believe our first customers are about to arrive." As the doorbell chimed to announce the newcomers, Bernie disappeared into the kitchen, leaving a very much confused Sara behind her.

* * *

Half an hour before closing, Val got off work and came on over to the 'Cat. Still in her work clothes, khakis and a navy polo, she slid into an empty booth and made a wry face at Sara. Responding in kind, Sara finished replacing the Coke syrup in the soda machine before making her way over to her friend. She could tell from the frustration in Val's eyes that it was going to be a rant night.

"Who did it this time?" she asked calmly.

Val was off and running in a second. Apparently, they'd had a huge shoplifting problem today, and she was infuriated by her utter inability to do anything about it. Sara let her vent. Eyes on the door, she watched it carefully, waiting for the next set of customers.

At a quarter to eleven, the sons of Elrond came in, supporting a white Legolas between them.

"Get Bernie!" Elladan ordered sharply. The brothers lowered Legolas onto one of the cleaner booths while Sara sprinted for the kitchen.

"Bloody Elves," Bernie growled, stopping Sara's garbled explanation of current events. "Turn off the Open sign. Looks like we're closing early tonight." The cook swept from her kitchen. "Move over, Elrondion," she commanded.

Elrohir instantly released Legolas's hand and stepped back.

"While I don't doubt that you inherited some of your father's healing powers, they're probably going to be unnecessary here. Hmm." She bent over Legolas, who was the color of skim milk and just stared ahead blankly. "Elves. I swear. Tougher than dragons when it comes to torture or the stock market, but you give them one good shock . . . This may just do the trick."

She pulled a small glass vial from her apron pocket. Scrunching her nose, Bernie uncapped the vial and then practically shoved it up the elf's nose. Legolas jumped half a foot in the air. Tears streamed from his eyes as he coughed.

"What is that?" asked Val, impressed.

"You don't want to know." The cook looked the elf straight in the eyes, hard. "What happened?"

Elladan began, "We were" –

Bernie waved at him to be silent. "Legolas?"

"I . . . I saw him," Legolas whispered between coughs.

"Saw who?"

"Aragorn. He's back."

"Estel is dead, Legolas," Elrohir said gently, putting a comforting hand on the younger elf's shoulder. "He isn't coming back."

Legolas glared at his friend resentfully. "He _is_ back. I saw him."

"Maybe you saw his ghost?" Val suggested tentatively. "Or . . . or maybe someone who just really looked like him?"

The furious green-eyed glare was now turned on her. Val flinched. "I'm sorry."

Elrohir tapped Bernie's elbow. "A word?" he requested quietly. The cook and the sons of Elrond withdrew to the kitchen. Sara, who had been listening silently all this time, ran outside to make a call.

"So it's just you and me, huh?" laughed Val rather weakly, nervous about being left behind with the angry elf. "Oh dear."

* * *

"Estel is not back" Elrohir said wearily. "He was a Man. Men cannot return from the Halls of Mandos."

"Beren did."

"That is splitting hairs, Bernice, and you know it. Our sister may have looked like Luthien, but I assure you, she was not."

"So you think he's crazy, then?"

The elf ran a hand distractedly through his silky hair in a move that would have made _Them_ swoon. Bernie didn't even notice. "I honestly don't know what to think. He's been through so much, in and out of sanitariums twenty times in the last fifty years alone. I hoped, with the past few years and the horses, I hoped he was finally healing."

"They were so close, Legolas and our foster brother," Elladan spoke up at last. "We called them Beleg and Turin when their backs were turned. Thankfully, Aragorn was never as rash as his distant kinsman."

"He's your kinsman, too," Bernie pointed out ironically.

"We don't claim him. At least, not often. Bernie, when Aragorn died, Legolas never really got over it. Gimli was a dear friend, I believe, but Aragorn had been his best friend for almost a century. When you are a middle child like Legolas, a best friend like Aragorn is a marvelous thing."

Elrohir sighed. "Perhaps we should have pushed Legolas to settle down, to find a nice elf-maid and start a family. But strange women have been chasing him ever since the War of the Ring, and I've never known an elf more opposed to marriage."

"But do you think he saw Aragorn's ghost?" Bernie reminded them of the purpose of their little conference.

"I don't know. Why would Aragorn come back?"

"Maybe to give Legolas a cosmic kick in the pants?" she mused, only half-joking.

"The one thing we cannot avoid is that we have a problem," Elladan stated simply. "Legolas believes he saw Estel tonight."

"Where exactly were you when this happened?"

"Wandering in the woods. It's a pleasant evening; the stars are bright out here."

"And then he saw Aragorn?"

The sons of Elrond nodded.

"Hmm. Here's something a good friend of mine once shared with me: 'The dead we love never truly leave us, Bernice. Now, if you would be so kind as to pass me another lemon drop?' Bless him, that man did love lemon bars . . . And like as not, he was right. There's some part of Aragorn that lives on in Legolas. Maybe that's what he saw tonight."

* * *

Sara sat outside on the hood of the twins' car, hands shaking. Legolas had problems, sure, but he couldn't be really crazy . . . could he? He had been getting better lately, even in the short while she'd known him. And now, crazy? That really sucked.

Gritting her teeth, the teenager punched in a number into her phone and brought it up to her ear. She might not know anything about ghosts, but she knew some people who did.

"Hello?"

Relief flooded her at the sound of the man's voice. "Dean?"

"Sam, actually."

Oh. Of course. The voice was mellower, less deep. "Hey, Sam. It's Sara. How've you been?"

"Sara! We're doing . . . not so good. Had a falling out with both Bobby and Cass today. Dean's passed out now. He underestimated his alcohol tolerance again. What's up with you?"

She could hear the TV making noise in the background and then a creaking of springs as Sam settled himself back on the motel bed in an effort to get more comfortable. "Better than you, I guess. Sorry to hear about Bobby and Castiel. Tell Dean I said hi?"

"When he sobers up. He'll be disappointed he missed you."

"Really?"

"He thinks you're funny. And he doesn't usually give girls this number, so he must think actually think of you as a person. Congratulations."

"Thanks?"

Sam chuckled into the phone. "So anyway, what's on your mind? I'm guessing this isn't' just a social call – not that I'd mind if it was."

"Anything to save you from infomercials and Dean's snoring?"

He laughed louder. "Exactly. So what can I help you with?"

Sara stood up and began pacing the parking lot. Here went nothing. "What can you tell me about ghosts?"

* * *

**A/N: Well, dear readers, I'm afraid this story is winding down. There will be a few more chapters and perhaps an epilogue. I've had a blast writing this. I've got some new projects in mind, though, and I can only concentrate on so many story lines at a time. Hope you enjoyed the chapter! As always, reviews are greatly appreciated. They encourage me to pick up my pencil and dive back in to the story. Also, if anyone would like to submit a line/prompt for one of the future chapters, please just include it in your review. ****  
Navaer an si,****  
AiH**


	23. Mountain Dew

**Disclaimer: If it looks like it doesn't belong to me, chances are it doesn't.**

* * *

"You've got a ghost problem?" Sam asked, surprised. He'd been thinking demons or vampires or curses or something, not plain old ghosts.

"Well, it's not me, exactly." Sara proceeded to explain about Legolas's little situation. She then continued to pace while he thought.

"This is tricky," Sam said after a few minutes' silence. "If it weren't for the 'Cat and his being an Elf, I know what I'd tell you. But maybe he did really see the ghost of his dead friend. Legolas's own story is kind of bizarre. What's to have prevented those Powers over in the paradise he used to live in from sending Aragorn back here as well? If there's one thing Dean and I have been learning lately, it's that nothing – no matter how tragic or obscene or cruel or wrong – nothing is impossible. But here's what I'd try, if I were you . . ."

* * *

Val sat at the booth across from Legolas, doodling on a napkin. The elf's eyes had lost their insane gleam, and he was sipping morosely from a tall glass of Mountain Dew. Under normal circumstances, his stomach would have outright rebelled at the nearly radioactive liquid, but tonight was anything but normal.

"Does this look like a hippopotamus?"

Legolas glanced at her latest scribble. "It looks like a pig."

She attacked the sketch with an eraser and then redrew it. "Now?"

"A constipated pig. Have you ever considered taking a drawing class? You need it."

"Jerk. I'd like to see you draw a good hippopotamus."

Arching one elegant eyebrow, the elf held out his hand. Val rolled her eyes but passed over the pencil anyway. Legolas pulled a stack of napkins out of the dispenser and smoothed them unnecessarily. After draining his glass of Mountain Dew, he picked up the pencil and began to draw. Half a minute later, he held up the scrap of paper featuring an exquisitely detailed, clearly feral, massively ticked-off hippo. "Ta."

"Can you do a rhinoceros?"

"Can you _spell_ rhinoceros?"

"I'm never giving you Mountain Dew again," Valerie grumbled under her breath. "Just shut up and draw me a rhino."

The rhino – just as detailed and even more ferocious than the hippo – was soon followed by a giraffe, a lemur, a zebra, a tiger, a Tasmanian Devil, and a hyena. Legolas was just putting the finishing touches on the hyena when Sara came back inside, frowning slightly.

"Get any answers?" asked Val.

"I think so. Nice hyena."

"Thank you," Legolas replied stiffly.

"I ain't goin' in there! What, you want me to come out lookin' like you, Cactus Butt? . . . Anybody catch that one? No? Dang, you lot need to see Lion King."

"We saw it on Broadway." Elladan and Elrohir finally returned from the kitchen, Bernie at their heels. "Haldir and Orophin were in the chorus. Rumil was miffed at not being chosen to play a giraffe, so he skipped opening night. I must say, you delivered that line with panache."

"Did you go see Lion King, Legolas?" Bernie could see the onset of Sulky Elf Syndrome hovering around his mouth and eyes, and she decided to head things off.

It didn't work. Legolas got to his feet, abandoning his now empty glass of Dew. "I was in crazy lock-up at the time, actually. " His words were frigid and absent of emotion. Sara shivered. "A place I never desire to visit again. However, as you all seem intent on sending me back there, I take my leave of you."

And then he was gone. Suddenly and silently, he was just . . . gone. Sara ran out to the parking lot, calling after him. She returned a minute later, defeated.

"There's no point," Elrohir told her ruefully. "Legolas is a wood elf. In a small town like this, not even we can track him at night."

"He'll be all right." Elladan stared out the window of the restaurant, willing his words to become truth. "Somehow or other, Legolas always is."

* * *

Someone started banging on Crenna's window at eleven-thirty, waking her from a very vivid and bizarrely pleasant dream starring Horatio Hornblower, pistachio ice cream, and the perfect guacamole. Heart racing, she rolled out of bed and onto the floor. She lay there in a tangled heap of blankets and limbs until she remembered that her two Blue Heelers would be barking up a storm if it were a stranger. Gathering her courage, Crenna got to her feet and went over to the window. She pulled up the blinds to see a very pale Legolas tapping on the glass. His mouth was moving in some pretty extreme contortions. Still too sleep-muddled to be shocked, Crenna pushed the window open.

"Legolas?" She leaned forward to talk through the screen. The elf turned away from her hastily. "Hey, buddy. What's wrong?"

"Could you please put some clothes on?" Legolas hissed. 'It is taking everything I have not to run away from you right now, and I really need your help."

"What the . . . oh. Yeah, give me a sec." Crenna reached down for her blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. She had momentarily forgotten that she had gone to bed in a tank top and marching band shorts. "Sorry. I'm decent now."

He still wouldn't turn to look at her. "I need a favor."

"So I gathered. What do you need?"

"I have to ride, to clear my head. I need to borrow Shiva."

"No." It was a flat refusal.

"Crenna! Please." Now he gazed intently at her, his green eyes bright with anguish.

The girl sighed. "Give me a minute to get dressed. I'll meet you at the front door." After shutting the window and lowering the blinds, she leaned against the wall for a moment. Shaking her head briskly, Crenna did her best to wake up. Then she dug through her closet for her riding jeans and a clean T-shirt. Her boots were by the front door, so after pulling on clean socks, Crenna padded softly through the darkened house to find them.

Legolas was waiting for her by the front flowerbed. "You have to let me ride him. I . . . I'm so confused. So much stuff in my head. I have to ride."

Crenna had woken up enough to think now, and she still didn't think this was a good plan. Sure, Legolas had controlled Arod with a few spoken words, as was the Elvish way with all good beasts. Shiv, however, was not a good beast. Besides, he was half her heart, and she didn't trust Legolas alone with him, not when the elf was in such a fey mood.

"Fine. You can ride. But I'm riding with you."

"What?"

"Get over it. If you want to ride, I'm coming, too."

Legolas sighed in defeat. "All right."

In the dark pasture, it was Crenna who found and haltered her crazy Mustang. Taking a moment to fashion the lead rope into improv reins, she lifted her head to talk to the elf. "You want up front or in back? 'Cuz if you ride up front, you get the reins, but I also have to hold onto you. I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but Shiv's a bit unpredictable, so I've got to hold onto something. Or I can sit up front, and you don't get the reins, but you do determine how much contact there is. Whichever's easier for you."

He considered this. "I'll take back . . . Thanks."

"No problem. Okay, Shiv. Easy, boy." It was a matter of professional pride for Crenna to able to mount by herself. This time, thankfully, Shiv held still, and she was up and on in one jump. Legolas mounted behind her with considerably more grace.

"Can we go now?" he asked urgently.

"Sure." Crenna scooted up almost to Shiva's withers. Pooling the long tail end of the lead rope in her lap, she clucked to the gelding softly and squeezed his side with her left leg. "We're just going to go round the pasture a few times, okay? Then we'll see about the woods. C'mon, Shiv. That's a good boy."

They rode without talking for several minutes. Crenna had one hand loosely on the makeshift reins, the other entwined in Shiva's mane. Sitting as far back as he could, Legolas closed his eyes and listened to the night. He could hear the girl and the horse breathing, cars off on the highway, cows munching in the next pasture over, crickets and cicadas all around them. Once, a long time ago, when the world was younger and the word 'machine' had little meaning, Legolas thought he had heard the stars sing. The elf listened now, as he had so many, many times since then, for that faint sound that was so wondrous and so wholly unique. But tonight the stars were silent.

Giving up, Legolas moved forward. "Can we go faster?" he hissed in the teenager's ear. He steeled himself to conquer his fears and slipped one arm around her waist. Thank heaven this girl was built like a boy and only had eyes for horses.

"One lope around the paddock, and then you tell me what's got you so spooked. Deal?"

"Deal," he exhaled into her ear.

Crenna twitched. "Don't do that. It's creepy." Tightening her knees, the girl clucked again to Shiva, a request for more speed. Always eager to go, the gelding shifted to a trot and then an easy lope.

"Faster," Legolas begged.

Faster they went. The full moon shone down on them, two riders and a horse flying around in great, sweeping loops, their only restraint the barbed wire fence. Ab muscles clenched to a ridiculous amount, Crenna focused on moving with the rhythm and keeping her balance. Legolas was lost in the memory of other night rides with other gray horses. After a few turns, Crenna sat back and gradually brought Shiva to a halt with just her seat, an achievement in and of itself.

"Story time?" she requested hesitantly, patting Shiva on the shoulder blade.

"I saw Aragorn tonight."

"Did you now? How did that happen?"

"I don't know. I told Elladan and Elrohir, and they drug me to the 'Cat. No one believed me. They think I'm imagining things. At best, I saw a ghost. At worst, I'm crazy. And I bet you don't believe me either," he finished despondently.

Turning Shiva in a neat little circle, Crenna took her time to answer. "That depends. If what you need is someone who believes you, then yeah, sure, I believe you. Since it's late and my filter's off, though, I'm gonna be straight with you, okay?"

The elf laughed humorlessly, a dry, cracked sound. "Okay."

"Legolas, you don't need friends who believe you. You need friends who believe _in_ you. And you have them! Elladan and Elrohir treat you like family. Haldir and his brothers are thrilled to spend time with you again. And Sara would do anything for you. She really cares about you."

"I know," he said softly.

"And anyway, ultimately the only one who decides what you saw tonight is you. You've got to search yourself, Elf Boy. Did you really see Aragorn, or do you just miss him so awfully terribly much that your mind put him there for you when you needed him?" In a preemptive moved, she reached down and removed the elf's arm from her stomach before he could draw it back himself. Swinging one leg over Shiva's neck, she jumped off the horse. Crenna took the reins and began leading her gelding towards the house.

"Sometimes you have to accept that you're never going to get the closure that you want and move on. Legolas, I honestly think that this is one of those times." Not waiting for a response, she turned her back on the elf and kept walking.

They were almost back to the fence when Legolas spoke. 'Not very many people fire off and let me have it. Maybe it they did it more often, I would brood less." As Crenna shot him a skeptical look, the elf held up his hands in surrender. "No, you're right. No one makes me do or not do anything. I am responsible for my own choices, regardless of what anyone has done to me in the past."

"You have had a sucky past."

"Yes . . . He's a good horse, your Shiva." Legolas stroked the gelding's withers contemplatively.

Crenna could tell a subject-changer when she heard one. "Thanks."

"You do very well with him, for a human."

Since she liked fighting battles she could win, the teenager decided to let that one pass. "I'm going to call Sara and tell her you're okay. All right?"

"All right."

Elves. Sheesh. The girl pulled her phone out of the top of her cowgirl boots and held down number 7 on speed dial. Sara picked up almost immediately.

"Cren?"

"Hey, Sara. I've got Legolas. Yeah, he's all right. He's just kinda angsty." She laughed into the phone. "Did he really? Poor Val! I think I'll make him stay over here tonight, then. Will you tell the twins? Thanks. Oh, and Sara, I think he wants to talk to you. Here he is."

"Sara? I'm sorry. I know you were just trying to do your best. I'll see you in the morning, all right? Good night, mellon." He added this last as an apology, a way of saying all the things he couldn't find the words for. Then he handed the phone back to Crenna.

She stuck it back down in her boot, cackling. "Mountain Dew, huh? Dude, you are sooooo doomed."

* * *

Sara hung up the phone and turned to Elladan and Elrohir. "He's safe. He went to Crenna." She tried hard to keep the disappointment out of her voice but didn't entirely succeed.

"It's not your fault. We should have taken more care with him."

"We have known him for several millennia, after all. We ought to be better at predicting his reactions," Elladan seconded ruefully.

"Hey, at least we've got these wicked awesome sketches," Val pointed out, tucking the stack into her coat pocket. "I still think the hippo's my favorite."

"Hyena all the way," voted Elrohir.

His brother disagreed. "Tasmanian Devil."

"Rhino," said Bernie. "Sara?"

"Huh?" She looked up from frowning at her phone. "What? Oh, lemur. Definitely lemur. It's got tons of personality, don't you think?"

Laughing, they all parted to go their separate ways. Val and the sons of Elrond both offered Sara rides home, but she turned them down. It was less than a mile to her house, and she felt like walking. Hands shoved deep in her jean pockets, she walked morosely homewards. There had to be an answer, a solution, some way of helping Legolas. Sara was so deep in thought that she didn't notice the person following her until they grabbed her from behind and threw a plastic bag over her head. And then it was too late.

* * *

**A/N: Dun dun dun! And thus the plot advances. Reviews are greatly appreciated, and have a happy Thanksgiving!**

**AiH**


	24. Lasagna

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except the OC's, the setting, and the plot. Bon appetit! **

* * *

**12:30 a.m.**

Valerie got home, changed out of her work clothes, and was considering jumping in the shower when she remember that Sara hadn't texted her to say she got home ok. So she sent her a couple of messages and took a shower, sure that she'd have a reply by the time she got out. When there wasn't one, Val called Sara. The phone rang twice, then went to voicemail. Valerie called three more times, getting the same response each time.

Well, it wasn't that unlike Sara to be unavailable. Maybe she was just taking a really long shower, Val reasoned. Just to be safe, she called John, knowing that her friend's younger brother would be up playing video games. Unlike his sister, John did answer, and he even grumpily agreed to walk through the house looking for her. He called Valerie back five minutes later to say that he'd looked everywhere twice, and Sara wasn't home.

Slightly worried now, the young woman grabbed her flip-flops and her keys. Sara was probably just wandering around outside somewhere between her house and the 'Cat, talking on the phone with Dean or Sam again. In the off chance she wasn't, though, Valerie was going to check.

**1:45 a.m.**

Crenna's Horatio Hornblower dream was rudely interrupted for a second time that night. Once again, she rolled out of the bed and hit the floor. Untangling herself from the blankets, she answered her phone.

"Hullo?" she said groggily, then, "Wait . . . what?" as Valerie explained her concerns at ninety miles an hour. Crenna changed back into jeans and a tee before hurrying to the living room. Phone still in hand, she interrupted Legolas's date with Turner Classic Movies to tell him the news.

The elf shot to his feet, his pale face even whiter than usual in the TV-lit room. He grabbed Crenna's house phone and started dialing numbers with shaking fingers. One eye on the elf, the other on the old Barbara Stanwyck flick, Crenna mumbled something to Val for a few minutes more, relaying information to and from Legolas as necessary.

After what felt like ages, Legolas hung up the phone. "Let's go."

Keys and wallet already in hand, Crenna bolted for the door. "Finally."

**2:15 a.m.**

The lights were all on inside the 'Cat when Crenna pulled up alongside Val's Puddle Jumper. Legolas was out of the vehicle and inside the restaurant before she could shift into park. Stomach roiling, she followed him into the 'Cat.

Legolas and Valerie were sitting opposite one another at one of the booths, fidgeting awkwardly. Bernie was clearly visible through the window into the kitchen. Covered in flour, the cook had a phone held between her chin and her shoulder. Somehow, she was managing to talk on the phone, take notes with her left hand, and roll out cookie dough with her right.

Tired of hovering the doorway, Crenna slid into the booth next to Val.

"Any news?"

"Not yet," the older girl replied, her face frozen. "Bernie's working the phone."

At that moment, Bernice emerged from her kitchen, trailing a cloud of flour dust.

"What's the word?" Legolas half-rose, his green eyes dark with worry.

The cook ran a hand over her pinched face. "She's not with Hal or the sons of Elrond."

"Now is it time to panic?" demanded Valerie aggressively.

Bernie nodded, frowning. "Yes, I think it is definitely time to panic."

**2:20 a.m.**

"You're sure? I was talking to her earlier tonight. What? Oh, yeah, we're on our way."

Sam killed the TV and jumped off his bed. Going to his brother, he started shaking his shoulder. "Dean, wake up. Come on, man, wake up. Dean, we gotta go."

In the end, Sam ended up having to pack out the car in five minutes and then half-carry, half-drag his older brother to the Impala. Revving the engine, he pealed out of the motel parking lot and sped for the closest Interstate.

**3:00 a.m.**

An hour out from the city, Faith and Angel cowered in the back seat of a "liberated" Dodge Charger. The Charger was in fact a police vehicle whose driver had been attacked by a Fyarrl Demon earlier that evening. Fin sat shotgun, a sheet of yellow paper with directions from Rulmil clenched between bone-white fingers.

"Why did you talk me into letting him drive?" Angel whispered to Faith. He nodded at Spike, who was blasting the Sex Pistolas on the car stereo and driving 110 down the highway, sirens blaring.

"Blame Fin," she hissed back. "I'm as close to peeing myself as you are."

Angel grinned. "I've faced giant snakes, dragons, and psycho-Slayers, but nothing's terrified me this much in ages."

"Oy! I heard that!" Spike bellowed over the Pistols. He turned to glare at the backseat, swerving wildly.

"Eyes on the road, please," Fin begged through gritted teeth. The psychology student threw an arm out to grab the steering wheel and keep them from going off the highway or hitting a semi.

"See what you did?" But the blond vampire faced front again. His passengers breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"I hope Sara's okay," Faith murmured, glancing worriedly at Fin.

Angel surreptitiously took her hand and held it. "Me, too."

**3:30 a.m.**

The 'Cat had been set up as emergency headquarters. Everyone was either esconced in Bernie's tiny restaurant or speeding their way there as fast as they could. Never one to sit still and fret, Bernie was baking pies and cookies and casserole dishes of lasagna at warp speed. The six elves had just returned from trying to follow Sara's trail. It petered off near the park, however, and they reluctantly admitted defeat.

Now Rumil's fingers flew as he hacked into the local police database to see what information they might be withholding from the public. Haldir and the sons of Elrond stood together behind the cash register, quietly compiling a list of all the known orc groups in the vicinity. As soon as they finished, Orophin and Legolas were waiting to place threatening phone calls. Nothing frightened orcs quite so much as silky Elven voices.

Not really sure where they fit in, Crenna and Valerie went back and forth between Bernie's stifling kitchen and the now chilly dining area. They took the Elves pie and lasagna, watched their phones anxiously in case John called to say Sara had come home, and perpetually unloaded and reloaded the industrial dishwasher.

"Haldir said that Fin was bringing vampires. Think they'll be any good?" Crenna wondered, up to her elbows in soapy dishwater.

"I dunno. I'm actually more excited about the Winchesters," Val admitted.

The girls giggled, and for a millisecond, they almost forgot their friend was missing.

**4:00 a.m.**

When Sara came to, her chest ached, and her skull was on fire. She was sitting upright in a chair, her arms draped around the back, wrists pinioned together by what felt like a ziptie. Attempting to shuffle her feet, she discovered they were restrained by what must be the same.

What had happened? Sara vaguely remembered walking through Pioneer Park, a footstep on the pavement behind her, a blinding suffocation, and then nothing.

_Kidnapped_. She rolled the word around in her head to see if she liked the taste of it. _Kidnapped. Well, this sucks_.

Her mouth felt parched and dry as a desert. It tasted nasty, too. Another of Sara's unpleasant discoveries. Fearing what she might see, the girl had yet to open her eyes. In the darkness, all the horrid news being delivered by her other senses could be discounted as a dream. Seeing it made it real. Which was why Sara didn't dare look at her surroundings. That was one Pandora's box of fear and nasty, sordid unpleasantness that she was not prepared to deal with.

All at once, Sara became aware of heavy breathing. Someone was in the room with her. Her heartbeat accelerated erratically. Finally, Sara understood how someone could be paralyzed by fear. The terror rushing to her brain made it nearly impossible to think. And then the breathing came closer, and Sara's heart almost stopped.

"Hello," said a voice, inches from her ear.

_I'm only brave when I have to be_. Well, now was the time for bravery. Now or never. Sara's eyes fluttered open, and she stared unblinkingly into the face of her captor. Then the teenager lurched forward in her chair and threw up all over their feet.

**5:00 a.m.**

By the time Finley reached the Hunt for Sara headquarters, the others were almost out of ideas. Rumil's Internet search had turned up nothing but a series of petty burglaries. None of the orcs had confessed to knowing anything about Sara's whereabouts, not even when threatened with a visit from the dreaded sons of Elrond themselves. Legolas didn't know what else to try. Valerie and Crenna had been crying steadily for the last half hour.

"What can we do, Bern?" the bartender asked softly as Faith went straight over to the crying girls and began trying to calm them down.

"Send Spike and Angel to see if they can follow Sara's scent," the cook requested, stuffing half a dozen cookies into his hands. "And get those girls to eat these. Cranberry chocolate chip. They'll help."

Fin refrained from pointing out that cooking couldn't solve this. Instead, he spoke quietly to the vampires, who disappeared into the charcoal predawn after sniffing the missing girl's sweaty work apron. He conferred with Haldir, gave Faith the cookies, and then returned to the kitchen.

"This is bad," he murmured to Bernie as she slammed the ingredients for a sausage quiche around in a mixing bowl. "And we got her into this. It's our fault."

Bernie considered flinging raw quiche and reminding him that it was only their fault if Sara had been attacked by something 'Cat related and not a sadistic rapist, but what was the point? "I know."

"Have you asked Rosa? What does she say?"

The cook shook her head, silencing his hopes. "She's been gone all evening. Hasn't said anything. Not even a meow."

**5:30 a.m.**

Angel and Spike returned from their hunt with dour faces. No luck.

"But we did find this taped to the door," Spike announced, brandishing a half sheet of white computer paper covered in heavy black Sharpie.

"Let me see it!" Finley practically snatched it from the vampire's hands. Holding it up to the light, he read aloud:

_Dear Legolas,_

_We have your friend. Meet us at the abandoned sneaker factory at 9:00, and we will exchange her for you. Come unarmed and alone or the nerdy chick dies._

He lowered the note and exhaled in relief. 'Thank the Valar."

Val was the first to speak up. "I don't get it."

"Sara's been kidnapped by _Them_," Fin explained. "It's wonderful!"

Legolas, who was seriously considering a prompt retreat under one of the tables and into the fetal position, did not agree and said so.

"Don't worry," Rumil said reassuringly. "We won't use you as bait. Galadriel nearly flayed us last time."

"_They'_re probably just dumb enough to actually be holed up in that sneaker factory right now," Elrohir mused, the hard lines around his mouth easing a fraction. "Although I bet there are dozens of _Them_, if not more."

"Hold up." Faith glanced from the note in Finley's hand to Valerie and Crenna and then back to the note. "I've got an idea for how we're gonna get in there. First we need to cover the windows so my friends don't go all crispy. And then we're going to have a little fashion show."

**5:40 a.m.**

"Where is Legolas Greenleaf?" demanded the tall, slender redhead looming over Sara.

"Legolas Greenleaf, long under tree  
In joy thou has lived; Beware of the sea!  
If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore,  
Thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more."

-_**SLAP!**_-

"Want to try answering that again?"

"Go to H-ll."

For all her captor's sugary tone, she had a mean right hook. Sara reeled in her chair after this latest blow, wishing she could cradle her poor burning face. This awful interrogation had been going on for almost two hours with no results. Unless you counted every swollen, aching, bruised inch of Sara as results.

"Look," the redhead continued, switching from bad cop to good cop so fast it made Sara's metaphorical head spin. "We know you were with him. We know he talked to you. Called you 'mellon'."

Her prisoner flinched involuntarily, then cursed herself for it.

"Aha. You didn't think we knew that, did you, you little tramp? The Trace works, all right. Any time our darling, gorgeous Mr. Greenleaf call any girl by a term of endearment – anything, in fact, that is neither her given name nor a documented insult – any and every time this happens, we are notified. So tonight, when he dropped the "m"-word, we knew instantly and sent a retrieval team to pick you up. Unfortunately for you, the incompetents forgot their chloroform kits and had to make due with a grocery bag they found in the Walmart parking lot. Don't worry. The brain damage shouldn't be too severe."

This time, Sara cursed her captor in very colorful Spanish (vocabulary courtesy of Val). The redhead slapped her again.

"Temper, temper," she simpered. "Bad language never helped anyone."

Imagining Valerie's response to such a statement, Sara only barely bit back her next stream of caustic profanity. She _really_ didn't need any more head trauma tonight.

Something vibrated in the redhead's pocket. She paused to pull out a hot pink cell phone encrusted with rhinestones. It burned the eyes. Sara's captor flipped the pink eyesore open and studied it for a moment. Then she turned to Sara with an incredibly sinister smile.

"The note's been delivered to a known associate of the target, so we don't really need your intel." She leaned forward until her nose was mere centimeters from Sara's own. "But I'm kinda looking forward to breaking you. So one more time, where is Legolas Greenleaf?"

**7:00 a.m.**

Sam was rather proud of himself. He had managed to cross a state and a half in less than five hours and get Dean sobered up with only seven cups of coffee and two bathroom pit stops. The younger Winchester turned into a teensy parking lot crowded with a rusted old Mustang, a little Toyota truck, a police car, and two shiny silver sedans. Just for kicks, he parked by the police car.

"C'mon, Dean."

Dean opened a pair of very bleary eyes and cussed at no one in particular. Still, he hauled his butt out of the Impala, trying hard to remember why they weren't asleep in the latest crappy motel. Sam was doing his best to explain things quickly, but Dean only halfway paid attention. That half dropped to zero when they walked inside the 'Cat and saw who was waiting for them there.

Dean's eyes went first to Faith, who was smokin' hott in skintight caramel leather pants and a silver top that bared her shoulders, back, and midriff. Just looking at her reminded him why Albuquerque had happened in the first place. Then his gaze drifted to the girls on either side of her, who while not quite as hott were still totally tappable.

The shorter girl had wavy black hair and great curves that filled out her black leather pants. She had some kind of cool tattoo on her left forearm and wore a gold-tinted vest over a tank, displaying ample cleavage. The other girl had on these tight jeans with rips and holes in them almost all the way up to her pockets, affording a clear view of some seriously tanned skin. After that, her equally tight white T-shirt and thick blond ponytail were just gravy.

"Stop drooling, Dean." Bernie came forward and shook Sam's hand. "Glad you could make it. The other boys are in the kitchen – there's less light in there."

With some slight difficulty, Dean picked his jaw up off the floor. "What the . . ?"

"Diversionary tactics." Faith stepped up close to the hunter and just stood there, hips moving slowly from side to side. She loved making him squirm. "I think we got it now. First try, Spike called us 'slutty'. Guess I haven't met the kind of _Them_ who wear significantly more than underwear. Second time, Finley said we looked like homeschool prom rejects. That was embarrassing. This time, though, I think we got it." The Slayer did a little twirl that brought her even closer to Dean. "What do you think, Albuquerque?"

The older Winchester swallowed roughly and forced himself to keep his eyes on her dancing brown ones. _Don't look below the nose_, he ordered himself. _Don't look down. Don't look down._

Luckily for Dean, at that moment Legolas popped his head out of the kitchen to see who the newcomers were.

"Hey, Legs, how do we look?" Valerie drawled in a sultry voice.

The elf 's complexion went from pale cream to bright green in three seconds. Squeaking, he fled back into the kitchen. Even as the door swung shut, they could hear him whimpering.

"I think we're ready," Crenna agreed, looking after Legolas with a mixture of concern and amusement.

"As are we." Elladan stuck his shoulders through the window between the kitchen and the restaurant proper. "You ladies look absolutely terrifying," he commented with approval. "If you all will join the rest of us back here, we just need to go through the whole plan a couple of times with everyone, and then, it's go time."

* * *

**A/N: Congratulations to Song in the woods for guessing the identities of our kidnappers! Thanks to flamingmarsh for the kidnapping prompt. Now, please do a poor stressed-out, drowning in organic chemistry, overwhelmed authoress a favor and review?  
**

**Until next time,  
****AiH **


	25. Bottle of Water

**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Tolkien, except several books - now including a 2nd printing of The Father Christmas Letters. XD**

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating. Finals had to be finished first. On with the story!**

* * *

**8:00 a.m.**

"What did you say your name was?" the tall, chocolate-skinned Amazon asked suspiciously, one hand on the intricately carved ivory pommel of the sword at her hip, the other braced against the door, ready to slam it shut at a moment's notice.

"My name is Faith Lehane," Faith told her coolly, not bother to invent a pseudonym. Honestly, given the age of these girls – she'd never met one of _Them_ who admitted to be over twenty – maybe twenty percent had ever seen the show. She had taken the precaution of renaming her companions, however. "This is Arietta Hero Elizabeth Montgomery," she gestured to Valerie on her left, "and Phoebe Hester Aphrodite Todd," she indicated Crenna.

The Amazon nodded slightly. The names sounded right, and the new girls had a certain tough, screw-you attitude that was all the rage at present. Apparently, men dug bad girls. Still, she hadn't heard about sending for reinforcements. "Why are you here?"

Faith grinned. "Word is you've got a lead on The Elf. Came to join in the fun. Don't believe us? We've got proof of who we are. Take us to your leader," she added.

After hesitating for just a moment, the door guard capitulated. "All right." She pushed the heavy steel door the rest of the way open, allowing the newcomers to come in out of the dirty alleyway. "Come with me."

They followed the Amazon down an obscenely pink hallway into the great, cavernous room that made up the factory proper. Both Crenna and Valerie had been in and out of the old sneaker factory more times than they could count. It was a frequent pastime and rite of passage for the local teenagers. Valerie would have sworn that she knew the inside of the old building like the back of her hand. Today, however, it felt like walking into another world.

Everything was _pink_. Not the smooth, natural pink of puppy ears or horse noses, either. Pansy pastel pinks, riotous red pinks, nauseating neon pinks. Pink curtains and carpets and upholstery and wallpaper and tapestries and fabric were draped over every square inch of the old factory. Even the concrete floor had been stained a deep mauve. Crenna twitched. She felt like she was developing a pink allergy.

And the girls! There had to be nearly two score or more, some shorter, some taller, some brunette or blonde or auburn or even black-haired, white girls, brown girls, black girls, Asian girls, all skinny yet curvy at the same time. The girls wore a variety of jeans and tank tops, skimpy pajamas, even skimpier prom dresses, Daisy Dukes, miniskirts, and impossibly high hot pants. Faith rolled her eyes at this last one. No one _ever_ had the right to wear hot pants regardless of how good their legs were. Daisy Dukes, yes; hot pants, no.

"Stay here," ordered the Amazon when they'd reached the center of the room. "I will bring Her Ladyship to you."

_Her Ladyship_? Just walking across the room, Faith had overhead several conversations that made her sound like a lady. And Faith was not a lady. She didn't have high expectations for this Ladyship. But she just smiled cheerfully as the Amazon left.

"I'm sure we'll all be best friends." Valerie tried out her simper in a quiet voice, just in case it didn't work. It didn't.

As if summoned by the simper, a tall, lithe redhead approached them, trailing their Amazon friend. While many of the girls in the room were cute or pretty or gorgeous, this girl was another story. She was glorious, she was beautiful, she was super mega foxy awesome hott. And yet, for all her beauty, there lingered a hint of arrogant cruelty in the full red lips, the icy blue eyes, the slightly hooked nose.

"Who are you?" demanded Miss Perfect, regarding Faith, Valerie, and Crenna as if they were steaming piles of manure.

Faith gave their false names again, a hard glint in her eye. The Slayer did _not_ take well to being talked down to.

"Verity says you have proof. What are your qualifications?"

"William the Bloody, alias Spike, and Dean Winchester." This last one Faith was actually somewhat proud of, not that she'd ever tell Dean that. The Spike part was all a lie. Faith had very strict rules about doing Buffy's ex-boyfriends, especially when they were her best friends.

The redhead wrinkled her nose – gracefully, of course. "I require proof. We don't let just anyone in here."

_No, just the super sluts_. Forcing a smile, Faith pulled out her cell phone and played a very suggestive voicemail message on speaker. Spike's sexy Cockney accent and almost pornographic language made several of the nearby girls perk up and drift closer to listen in. Next, she showed Miss Perfect a photo of herself and Dean at some nightclub, silly grins on their faces, his arm wrapped possessively around her waist. "That good enough?"

"Fine, fine," Miss Perfect said, her voice tinged with irritation. That voicemail had been quite generous in praising the new girl's virtues, and she didn't like that, not at all. "Next?"

"Sam Winchester and the sons of Elrond." Valerie whipped out her camera to show a picture of Sam and herself making out. She then brandished a love note with both Elladan and Elrohir's signatures at the bottom. _Take that, b-witch._

"And you?" The redhead rounded on Crenna.

"Angel – to be more correct, Angelus. See?" Cren tossed her head, throwing her ponytail back to reveal two ugly red marks on the side of her neck. "Vampires don't take good pictures."

This was unexpected, to say the least. They never picked up three such highly qualified girls in one day. Perhaps these three had been working together and decided it was for the best to pool their resources in with her? Yes, that must be it. Finally placing them, the redhead unbent enough to favor the newbies with a beneficent smile. "Welcome, sisters. I am Bonnie Irene Felicia Fiona Erin Darcy Toothman. You may call me Bonnie Irene Felicia Fiona Erin Darcy Toothman or Your Ladyship. I am our Sisterhood's chairperson this month. Come, let me show you around."

"That'd be grand." Faith slipped her phone into her pocket, tapping the 'send' button. "Come on, Arietta, Phoebe. Let's go meet everyone."

* * *

**8:15 a.m.**

_I must be dead_, Sara thought, waking up to incredible pain. _Nope. I must still be alive. Dead wouldn't hurt this much. Unless I'm in Hell? Nah, even that would be better than this._

Suddenly there came a slight thud from behind her, and someone's hand covered her mouth. Before she could bite their fingers, a soft, familiar voice whispered in her ear, "Ssh, Sara, it's me. I'm here. It's all going to be all right. I just need you to be quiet. Can you do that for me?"

Tears sprang to the girl's eyes, and she nodded against his hand.

"Good girl." Orophin crouched down behind her chair, out of the line of sight from the doorway. He drew a long, thin Elven dagger – for search and rescue missions, you had to use the best stuff – from its sheath at the small of his back and set to work. The finely honed steel sliced through the plastic zip tie at Sara's wrists like butter. As she pulled her aching hands into her lap, Orophin crept around to the front of the chair to cut the tie on her ankles.

Finished, the elf looked directly into her eyes because looking elsewhere made him want to hit things, and this aspect of the mission had a strict nonviolence policy. "Can you stand?"

Sara highly doubted this. Her legs were numb. She shook her head no.

"Can you hold onto me?"

"I'll try," she croaked, noticing at last the thick black web harness that Orophin wore around his chest.

Lips pursed very thin indeed, the elf shook his head. "Don't talk. I've got you." He leaned over, allowing the girl to put her arms around his neck. Then Orophin picked her up lightly and carried her over behind the chair to where a light climbing line dangled from the huge skylight above. Clipping the rope to his harness, he tugged on the line once.

Instantly, the line began to move, drawing them upwards towards the metal roof. One hand clinging to the line, the other wrapped around Sara's waist, Orophin kept his eyes on the ground below them. If they were discovered . . . Thankfully, no one came in the room. They were pulled up through the skylight in less than a minute. Hands reached out to take Sara from Orophin and then to drag the elf onto the roof.

"Harness," Legolas ordered tersely while Haldir and Rumil steadied Sara between them.

Orophin wormed out of the safety gear and tossed it to the wood elf. "You'd think _They_ wouldn't have left the prisoner in the room with the best roof access."

"_They_'re persistent, not particularly intelligent. Unless you count animal cunning?" Sara suggested, sounding dazed.

"Right." Orophin continued, "Angel and Spike are waiting in the alley to get you two to a hospital."

"Thanks." Doing up his last buckle, Legolas walked to the far edge of the roof that bordered on the alley. They had another climbing rope and pulley set up there. After attaching a line to his harness, he held out an arm for Sara. Still supported by Rumil, the girl wobbled woozily over to him. She clung to Legolas as the elf began rappelling silently down the side of the building. At the bottom, he unclipped himself and gave a thumbs up sign to the Brothers Treegarth on the roof. Then Legolas helped Sara into the car with darkly tinted windows that had just pulled up next to him.

"Step on it." He closed the door, and Spike, needing no further encouragement, slammed his foot down on the accelerator. Tires squealing on the grave, the car shot forward out of the alleyway.

* * *

**8:30 a.m.**

Bonnie Irene Felicia Fiona Erin Darcy Toothman paused in introducing Phoebe, Arietta, and Faith to the lowest ranking members of the Sisterhood. "What was that noise?" she asked suspiciously.

Arietta shrugged. "Sounded like a care to me."

"Hmmph." Bonnie Irene Felicia Fiona Erin Darcy Toothman checked her phone. "Time to transport the prisoner."

"Prisoner?" Phoebe/Crenna did her best to sound like an innocent airhead. She was surprisingly convincing.

"An ugly idiot who thinks she's superior to us," the redhead said dismissively. "But you can come see her, if you like."

Faith, Crenna, and Valerie followed Her Ladyship across the huge factory floor, down a short hallway, and into a small side chamber with a single skylight. Val and Cren were very familiar with this room. It was where Valerie had had her first kiss, where Crenna had been initiated into the marching band as a freshman, where many a philosophical teenager had spent hours gazing up at the stars through the skylight. It was also completely empty, apart from a sturdy wooden chair and some plastic trash on the floor.

"So where's this prisoner?"

But Bonnie Irene Felicia Fiona Erin Darcy Toothman had not survived to the great age of eighteen without developing an acute sense of paranoia and an intense case of persecution mania. In her line of work, you just didn't make it through sixteen and seventeen without them. Girls could get so jealous when you stole their man . . . Regardless, the remarkable coincidence of these new crew members showing up just before the prisoner disappeared was not lost on Bonnie Irene Felicia Fiona Erin Darcy Toothman. Her suspicious mind put two and two together and got eleventy-one almost instantaneously.

"You!" she hissed, nostrils flared wide and pink like a dragon about to snort fire. "GIRLS!"

Summoned by their leader's shriek, the horde of teenagers in the main room began stampeding for the antechamber. The walls and ceiling shook slightly from the pounding of over a hundred feet. Part of the roof even came loose and plummeted to the floor. Bonnie Irene Felicia Fiona Erin Darcy Toothman cowered, anticipating a crash. Instead, the pieces of ceiling extended their arms ten feet from the ground. Cloaks unfurled, the three oversized Elvish bats landed gracefully.

Transfixed, Bonnie Irene Felicia Fiona Erin Darcy Toothman watched open-mouthed as Haldir and his brothers removed their cloaks and tossed them to the side. These guys were hott to some ridiculously high power, all black leather and pale blond hair.

Orophin pulled two daggers from their sheaths on his back just as Haldir and Rumil drew their own long swords.

"Run," the blue-eyed elf said quietly, his eyes locked on Crenna's.

The blond girl nodded and was off. Faith was a Slayer and could fight like nobody's business. The Elves were practically untouchable. Even Valerie had a brown belt in judo. Apart from tussling with her brothers, however, Crenna had never fought. But there was one thing she could do: run.

Crenna pivoted on her heel and slipped past the girls now entering the chamber into the hallway, which was packed to the gills with wriggling females all trying to get through. With no time to waste, the girl gritted her teeth and began pushing through the crowd. She had once spent an afternoon learning to bellow like a mad bull. This came in handy now. Terrified, _They_ scattered out of her way. Still bellowing, Crenna stretched her legs and really took off.

Crossing the mauve factory floor in five seconds, she sprinted down another hallway to the door where they had originally been met by the Amazon. The girl threw the door open, managing a slight bow to the men waiting outside. With a quick "thanks", Dean and Sam Winchester strode past her towards the sound of the commotion, giant tranquilizer guns cradled in their arms. Finley, carrying what highly resembled a policeman's billy club, handed her a water bottle before following after the hunters.

"Help Elrohir," Elladan commanded. The elf clasped the panting girl on the shoulder. Then, unsheathing a knife longer than her forearm, he, too, disappeared.

Gulping down a third of the water bottle, Crenna stepped outside to where Elrohir stood impatiently by a large, rectangular object shrouded in white canvas.

"Do you remember the plan?"

She nodded and crouched down on the opposite side of the object.

"Good. On the count of three, then. One, two, three." Together, they lifted the object and carried it inside the factory. They set it up on the concrete floor; luckily it stood on its own. Elrohir whipped the canvas up and over to reveal an empty black wood picture frame approximately seven feet tall. The frame was carved intricately all around the edges and balanced on four sturdy clawed lion's paws. Nodding in satisfaction, the tall elf tossed the canvas to Crenna. She caught it and tucked it away beneath a giant pink pouf while he strode round and round the frame, muttering in a mixture of Quenya and Khudzul.

Elrohir went around the picture frame seven times, then gestured for Crenna to come stand by him on its far side. They stared through its empty center towards the hallway and the fight. Crenna glanced up at the elf, who was nearly vibrating in his eagerness to go. Aware of her gaze, he looked down at her and smiled slightly. "Now we wait."

* * *

**Author's Note: I decided to break the action up there, because otherwise this chapter continues on for quite a while. Also, as I leave tomorrow to spend Christmas in Paris with one of my best friends, I fear this is your early Christmas present. I'm not sure if I'll have access to a computer, but the next chapter should be up by New Year's Eve at the latest. Merry Christmas, mellyn nin!**

**Navaer an si,  
AiH **


	26. Chicken Sandwich

**Disclaimer: Anything recognizable from any copyrighted book/movie/TV show, etc., does not belong to me.**

* * *

**9:00 a.m.**

Finley paused in beating the brunette Amazon clinging to his ankles long enough to glance around the room. They were down from seventy-odd opponents to thirty-plus, but not without their own casualties. Hip deep in unconscious bodies, Rumil and Orophin had decided to go out in a blaze of glory. The elves removed their shirts and began teasing the top buttons of their tight leather pants. They were buried beneath a stack of _Them_ ten feet tall in thirty seconds. Sam and Dean had their backs against the wall and were nearly out of tranquilizer darts. Valerie sported a black eye, Haldir's lip was bleeding, and Faith had been chasing _Their_ leader back and forth across the room for the last five minutes.

"Ouch!" The bartender came back to himself at the sudden, sharp pain in his leg. Tired of being ignored, the Amazon had decided to take a chunk out of his lower thigh. This was ridiculous. He smashed her over the head with his billy club, then kicked himself loose of her limpet-like grasp. "Elladan!" he shouted. "The signal!"

The tall, dark-haired elf jerked his dagger free from the pleural cavity of a curvaceous, freckled redhead. Annoyed, Elladan drew his sword and beheaded her in one stroke. Valar, he hated the rattling sound of someone drowning in their own blood. Tossing the corpse to the side, Elladan threw his head back and hooted twice like a barn owl and once like a screech owl. He nodded back to Finley, completely oblivious to the crimson blood splattered across his face, neck, and forearms.

Valerie shivered as she ran past him, leading a small group of _Them_ within range of the Winchesters' tranquilizer guns. _Please let the others hurry_.

**9:05 a.m.**

Elrohir started at the birdcall. "Time to go," he hissed through bared teeth. Then, in a deafening, high-pitched voice utterly unlike his own, he squealed, "The new girl's getting some!" and kissed Crenna right on the mouth.

_**-****SMACK- **_

"What are you doing?"

"It's part of the plan!"

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is. We didn't tell you because we knew you wouldn't agree."

"So you rape-kissed me instead? How is that any better?"

The elf frowned. This was why he hated working with human females. They lacked objectivity. "The plan supersedes individual will. You _will_ do this so that your friends and my friends will be safe, for a little season. I apologize if that was your first kiss, but the plan must be followed."

"I'm not kissing you. Isn't there a plan B?"

Elrohir relaxed infinitesimally. "There is. You won't like it, and there's not much time."

"As long as I don't have to kiss you, I'll do it."

He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. The elf was right; she didn't like it. But at least it didn't involve kissing. Crenna put his hands on his shoulders, and Elrohir gripped her waist. She jumped, he lifted, and then she was straddling him, her legs locked around his waist, her arms thrown about his neck. In case she fell, the elf looped one arm loosely around her lower back.

"This is so awkward," Crenna mumbled, blushing deep pink.

"Why do you think we let you wear pants?" Elrohir snickered as her face became an even darker shade of crimson.

Their little charade was just in time. At that exact moment, a mini herd of _Them_ came stampeding down the hallway. _They_ stopped dead at the sight that met _Their_ eyes. The new girl, who had no real cred whatsoever, was straddling and apparently nuzzling an unbelievably hott elf. She was practically sitting on his hipbones, and her t-shirt had ridden up, exposing a swath of tan skin that had a long, pale Elvish hand pressed against it.

Priscilla Devereaux and her three best friends screamed with rage and sprinted towards the way too flirty couple. Some weird gigantic wood hoop was blocking the way, but that was no obstacle for the athletically gifted Priscilla and her buds. The four besties dove through the picture frame and disappeared.

"What the Quaffle?" Crenna twisted her neck around to see what had just happened.

Elrohir only laughed. "And so it begins."

**9:05 a.m.**

Spike pulled up outside the E.R. drop-off at St. John's, the best hospital within a 50-mile radius of Sara's house. Legolas jumped out of the car, careful not to let sunlight touch the two vampires. Then he lifted the now asleep Sara out of the backseat. He carried her in through the automatic doors, past the waiting room, and up to the nurses' station.

"My cousin was mugged on her way to work," he lied convincingly in a panicked tone. "I think she may have broken something."

A heavyset woman in navy blue scrubs stood up. "Has she had a concussion?" she asked with concern.

"I don't know." Legolas allowed the panic in his voice to ratchet up a notch.

The nurse grabbed a clipboard off the desk and squeezed her way out of the crowded nurses' station. "Come with me, son. We'll take your cousin to a room and get her checked out."

Legolas followed the nurse, exhaling slightly in relief. Perhaps now he could finally start to relax.

**9:15 a.m.**

The antechamber had nearly emptied out, save for a few stalwarts who didn't trust the insane giggling coming from the factory proper. One of these stalwarts was Bonnie Irene Felicia Fiona Erin Darcy Toothman. Showing no signs of tiring, she was still playing cat and mouse with Faith, who was starting to wheeze and pant a bit. Not even the best conditioned of Slayers could keep up with one of _Them_ for too long.

Elladan observed all this, frowning his especially perturbed frown. The Gate would only stay open for so long, and he was becoming legitimately worried about his kinsfolk, buried beneath a pile of _Them_. Those overly eager mortals had been knocked out as well, and Finley seemed to have dislocated his shoulder in the stampede. Also, it was only a matter of time until Crenna mutinied and decided to try her hand at knocking his brother out. The elf gritted his teeth. As a son of Elrond, he would always do whatever was necessary to further the plan. Today, though, he found duty rather repugnant.

"Meleth nin!" The blood-encrusted elf dropped to one knee directly in front of Bonnie Irene Felicia Fiona Erin Darcy Toothman and instantly began spouting romantic nonsense in highly unintelligible English. Hesitant to trample such a fine specimen, Bonnie Irene Felicia Fiona Erin Darcy Toothman halted. Gazing into the elf's deep, clear grey eyes, she swooned.

"Beloved!" Elladan leapt to his feet and caught the girl. Easily sweeping her off her feet, he sprinted from the room. The eldest son of Elrond raced down the hall, still gabbling on about true love to the girl in his arms.

Luckily for him, Crenna and Elrohir had managed to draw all of _Them_ from the main room in through the great wooden Gate. His way was clear. Elladan dashed up to the picture frame and unceremoniously deposited Bonnie Irene Felicia Fiona Erin Darcy Toothman on the floor. Then he gave her a great shove. Squawking in a most unseemly manner, Bonnie Irene Felicia Fiona Erin Darcy Toothman flew through the picture frame and disappeared like so many of her sisters.

"Was that the last one?" Elrohir inquired, his arm still wrapped around Crenna's waist.

"Except for a score and a half of bodies and a few dunderheads who keep trying to kiss Haldir. That's the tail end of it."

"So . . . can I get down now?"

"Oh. Sorry." Elrohir moved his arm, and the girl jumped down to the floor.

"Clean up time?" she asked Elladan, deliberately not looking at his younger brother.

The elf nodded. "Clean up time."

**9:30 a.m.**

"According to the X-rays, everything's fine." Dr. Saunders was six feet two inches of pure muscle with blue-black skin, a small, neatly pointed beard, and a marvelously reassuring manner. "You'll have some nasty bruises for a week or two." He reached out a very gentle hand to touch Sara's swollen cheekbone. "It will go away eventually, though. In the meantime, I'll write you a prescription for some extra strength Advil, and let's keep bandages on those scrapes, okay?"

"Okay. I feel like a six-year-old's piñata," Sara joked weakly.

Dr. Saunders sat down ad pulled out a prescription pad. Scribbling across it at ninety miles an hour, he stared at Sara keenly. "You shouldn't be alone or sleep for the next eight hours, just in case of concussion," he ordered in that smooth, calming voice. "If you have any more problems, just call."

"We will," Legolas promised. "Thank you, doctor."

"You're welcome." The E.R. doc stood up. He extended the prescription to Sara. "Do you have any questions?"

Sara eyed the paper skeptically. "Does someone really have to accompany me to the bathroom? Or can I be alone there?"

Dr. Saunders laughed and handed the prescription to Legolas. "Take good care of her, young man. And Miss Gilley?"

"Yes?"

"Perhaps you should take a different way to work." Still smiling, the doctor quit the room.

"Can we get out of here?" Sara asked Legolas quietly.

"As soon as we pay our bill."

"Oh, crap. I've lost my wallet."

"Elladan and Elrohir will find it," he reassured her. "And don't worry. We got you into this; we pay your hospital bills. All right?"

The girl grinned; it rather resembled a grimace. "You drive a hard bargain, Thranduilion. Help me to the car?"

"Of course."

**9:35 a.m.**

Valerie and Crenna hauled the last unconscious girl to the Gate and tossed her in.

"Final count: forty-two unconscious and thirteen dead. Dang. Remind me to never tick these guys off."

"You forgot to add my self-respect to the casualty list."

Valerie giggled. "Did you have fun with that?"

Crenna rolled her eyes at her friend. "Of course not. Wait . . . you knew?"

"We all knew, Cren," the older girl said pityingly.

"Then why on earth didn't you tell me?"

"Because, quite frankly, it was a good plan – and I wanted to see your reaction."

"Which you didn't see anyway."

"Yeah, but at least now I get to hear Elrohir tell the story."

"You two still talking about that?" Faith and Haldir rounded the corner. They had just returned from bringing the car around. "We've got two unconscious Elves, that many unconscious Winchesters, Finley is in serious need of pain meds, and you're still talking about that? Guess it was your first kiss," the Slayer snickered.

Mortified, Crenna flushed bright red.

"Here." Haldir took pity on the poor girl. "How's this? You help us move the guys, and we won't bring it up again, deal?"

The teenager nodded fervently. Following Faith and Haldir into the antechamber, the two girls found Elladan and Elrohir busy at work reviving their kinsmen. Both Rumil and Orophin were covered navel to hairline with lipstick prints, and they were just now coming to.

"Can I get my shirt?" Orophin requested as his brother suggested they take a picture.

Valerie held up the tattered shreds of black fabric for him to see. Orophin cursed _Them_, then accepted a hand up from Elladan.

"You idiots." Haldir looked at his younger siblings fondly. "Must you always be so melodramatic?"

"We're actors, Hal," Rumil reminded him. "Drama is in our blood."

"You mean, you're related to dear old great-uncle Feänor?" Elrohir teased.

"I said dramatic, not insane. Jeez, Elrondion, get it right."

Shrugging, the younger son of Elrond stepped over to Sam and Dean, who were also beginning to wake up. He pulled the hunters onto their feet and congratulated them on their body count – fifteen unconscious girls apiece.

"Did the rest of the plan work?" Dean asked, retrieving his gun.

"_They_ all went through. The Gate will seal itself in another minute or so. _They _won't be coming back. Not that way, at any rate."

Dean dropped his voice several decibels. "C'mon, dude. You know what I mean. How'd it go with . . .?" He nodded slightly in Crenna's direction.

Elrohir glanced over at the girl, who was helping Elladan and Valerie pop Fin's shoulder back into place. "You do realize that I consider her an infant, right? I am ancient; that girl is eighteen."

The older Winchester wasn't buying it. "She's still legal. So how'd it go?"

"She slapped me," Elrohir admitted reluctantly. "We ended up going with Faith's suggestion."

Dean opened his mouth to make a comment about Faith's idea, but Sam shut him down with a groan.

"Sammy! Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Just, Dean. . . "

"Yeah?"

"Shut up about the girls, okay?"

"Okay." As much as he disliked obeying his little brother, Dean did so now out of concern. The younger Winchester kept reaching up to probe his forehead gingerly. Maybe it was nothing, but then again, maybe it was something. "We should go."

"Just waiting for everyone to be able to walk, I think. We were lucky this morning."

"How many dead?" Sam asked softly.

"Around fourteen."

Exhaling sharply, the hunter shook his head. "Fourteen. I wonder if _They_ had hopes, dreams, some other life outside this. Or was this all _They_ were?"

"I do not know. Next time _They_'re chasing you, why don't you stop to ask _Them_?"

Sam laughed. "Next time, I just might."

**9:50 a.m.**

"Crenna was supposed to do _what_?" Sara gasped, now fully awake and busily engaged in chomping down on a chicken sandwich that Bernie had sent along in a large lime green lunchbox. "And you didn't tell her? Bad plan."

"Is she not a fancier of men or something?" Spike turned down the Red Hot Chili Peppers to join in on the conversation.

Sara swallowed her bite of chicken and pickles before answering. "No, no, Crenna's not lesbian. She just tends to think of guys in the abstract."

"She likes the idea of dating, but actually doing it is something else entirely?" Angel mused.

"Exactly."

"It's nice that she isn't man-crazy – that neither of you are," Legolas added hastily. "That's why we like you."

"Uh huh." Knowing better than to mention her earlier thoughts of a man harem, the girl changed the subject. "Okay, I've got two questions. One, can we have a party tonight?"

Legolas smiled. "Bernie's planning on it."

"Only this time no invasions or kidnapping or lobsters, savvy?"

"Lobsters?" Spike asked quizzically.

"Tell you later. Trust me, though, crustaceans are not pretty. And question number two: where did the sons of Elrond send _Them_ again?"

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. I needed a couple of days to sleep after getting back in the States. Paris was AMAZING. Hope you all had wonderful Christmases! As always, reviews are greatly appreciated.**

**AiH**


	27. Miruvor

**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to LotR, Supernatural, BtVS, or Forgotten Realms. Or anything else that I forgot to mention. But I do own a couple of very lovely scarves. That's progress, right?**

* * *

Bonnie Irene Felicia Fiona Erin Darcy Toothman came to her senses in a damp, cold, cavernous dungeon. Someone had had the audacity to chain her by the wrists and ankles to the slimy stone wall, and her fingers were starting to go numb. Her sisters and friends were likewise imprisoned, save for several slumped against the floor. Choking back a scream, Bonnie Irene Felicia Fiona Erin Darcy Toothman went limp with shock. They were dead. They were _all_ dead. Even the girls chained to the walls just dangled from their shackles. Their eyes were open, sightless, and opaque. That is, if they still had eyes.

The beautiful redhead's limpid gaze darted from girl to girl. Friends, companions, underlings, flunkies, bodyguards, sisters. Some of them were drenched in crimson blood. The flesh on their chests had been flayed open, revealing red muscle and the pale shine of bone beneath. Others had no marks on them, just an expression of terror in their dead eyes. Bonnie Irene Felicia Fiona Erin Darcy Toothman trembled in her chains, which only made her shoulders and arms ache all the more. What monstrous creature had done this?

Hardly able to breathe, Bonnie Irene Felicia Fiona Erin Darcy Toothman stared relentlessly at the door of the dungeon. Situated directly across from her, it was the lone spot on the walls not adorned with the dead. She forced herself to inhale and exhale. Escape. She was a member of the Sisterhood. There was always a way to escape.

Just then, the door was thrown open, crashing against the mangled body of Priscilla Devereaux, a cheerful, flirtatious brunette who had been quite promising. No longer. In strode a short, lithe figure, a parody of an elf. The woman had shining ebony skin and pure white hair wound into an elaborate coiffure on top of her head. Her face was sharp and cruel, and the smile playing about her full lips boded well for no one.

"Look, Jeggred, she's awake." The female spoke to the monster than now stepped in behind her. It was nearly ten feet tall with too many arms and long, curved ivory claws. Like the woman, the monster had dark skin and a white mane. Feral intelligence gleamed in its grey eyes, which were set back in its bony skull.

Bonnie Irene Felicia Fiona Erin Darcy Toothman started panting n terror. Her chest rose up and down as she fought pointlessly against her bonds. Where was her super strength? Why couldn't she break free?

Triel Baenre watched the prisoner struggle for a long moment, pondering. None of the others had revealed anything satisfactory about the cause of their sudden appearance in Menzoberranzan, and honestly, with the ever increasing silence of Lolth, she had more pressing things to be worrying about. Enough. Turning to her draegloth son, the drow priestess snapped her fingers. "Finish her," Triel ordered shortly, then swept from the room.

Once she was gone, the monster approached Bonnie Irene Felicia Fiona Erin Darcy Toothman, its mouth open hungrily. Finally she knew what had killed her sisters. Too late. A scream had been building up in her chest. Now it burst free, and Bonnie Irene Felicia Fiona Erin Darcy Toothman screamed as she never had before in her life. She begged for mercy, for pity, for help. She called upon every god she had ever heard of, but in that dark place, none of them were listening. Jeggred stepped closer and closer to the girl, raising one clawed hand to touch her swanlike neck. Bonnie Irene Felicia Fiona Erin Darcy Toothman's next shriek jumped up two octaves. She screamed and screamed and screamed till her throat grew sore and her voice became hoarse. The last thing she felt was the monster's teeth closing around her throat. Then at last merciful darkness claimed her.

* * *

"They did _WHAT_?" The merriment drained from Sara's face, and she sank back against the upholstery of Spike's car. "Holy hobgoblins. That's brutal! Oh my goodness. . . _They_ won't last more than an hour or two – and if _They _do, that's even worse."

Legolas looked at her with concern. He really hadn't expected her to react so strongly. "Sara? Are you all right?"

"The poor devils," the girl mumbled, shaking herhead. "I hope it was quick."

Knowing Elladan and Elrohir, it might have been set up to not be quick, but Legolas wisely decided not to point this out.

"Why do you feel bad for _Them_?" Spike wondered from the front seat, thankfully keeping his eyes on the road this time.

"Because being tortured by drow is a horrible way to die."

Angel was confused. "Drow?"

"Evil sub-race of Elves in the Forgotten Realms campaign setting for Dungeons and Dragons – a role-playing game," Legolas explained. "Not that I've ever played, of course."

"You mean Elves can be evil?" gasped Sara.

"Very funny. Of course they can. You met Keredwel."

"She didn't strike me as evil. More like man-hungry."

"You mean Legolas-hungry, Spike."

The blond vampire smirked. "Exactly, Angel."

Legolas shook his head. "How on earth does Faith put up with you?"

Spike's smirk widened. "Oh, we make it worth her while."

-POW-

Angel had finally snapped. Grabbing the wheel with one hand, he smacked the younger vampire up the side of the head with the other. Spike vamped out instinctively. His brow became more prominent, and fangs shot down from his upper lip. Cockney accent suddenly much thicker, he swore at his grandsire in 1890's dockyard English. Angel responded in kind with a furious Irish brogue. Cowering in the backseat, Sara and Legolas just crossed their fingers and prayed they wouldn't crash.

By the time they reached the 'Cat, however, the quarrel had apparently been forgotten. The vampires dropped them off and then drove away to go find a butcher's shop, reminiscing amiably. Sara hesitated outside the door of the restaurant. She had a creeping feeling this was going to turn into a major group hugging session, and her bruises might not be up to the challenge.

"If you don't go in, they're going to come out and tackle you on the gravel," Legolas reminded her dryly.

Ouch. Even the thought of a gravel-tackle made her bruises ache. Sara steeled herself for the impending impact, then opened the little restaurant door and stepped inside. Surprisingly, no one attacked her. She stopped wincing and looked around.

There was Valerie with a lovely shiner and Crenna grinning from ear to ear. Finley, Faith, Sam, and Dean all stood against the opposite wall with grins just as big and cans of Coke in their hands. Rumil and Orophin glanced up from a booth where they were rubbing their pink-tinged faces with cotton balls. The sons of Elrond had just opened a bottle of their precious miruvor, and Bernie and Haldir were holding hands.

"Hey, guys," Sara said weakly. "How you doin'?" she tried to joke but found her voice betraying her, thick and full of unshed tears. Coming up behind her, Legolas placed a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder. "Thank you," Sara choked out, mortified by her excessive emotion. "Thank you all so much for coming to get me."

"Come here." Dean's voice was rough as he held his arms out. Breaking down at last, Sara ran into them. And thus the mass hugging began. It continued without cessation until Elladan elbowed his way between Valerie and Sara to press glasses of miruvor into their hands.

"Drink up," he ordered as his brother passed the wonder liquid out to Orophin, Rumil, and a still pale Finley. "We all need it."

"And then y'all are going to clean this place until it sparkles." Bernie smiled. "We've got a lot to celebrate tonight. Sara's alive, _They _have been banished for a while, and . . ." she paused, now practically radiant with happiness, "and Haldir has asked me to marry him." She held up her left hand, where a glittering yellow beryl adorned the fourth finger. "Obviously, I said yes."

Shell-shocked, Rumil and Orophin turned as one to stare blankly at their brother, who grinned smugly back at them.

"You're getting married?" Rumil did his best to sound pleased. "Con – congratulations."

"I can see what's happening," Orophin half-sung under his breath.

"And they don't have a clue."

"They'll fall in love, and here's the bottom line . . ."

"Our trio's down to two." The tall, slender elf dropped the song and stood up straighter. "Well, it was fun while it lasted. Come on, Orophin. Let's go get this bloody lipstick off and take showers. But not together. 'Cause unlike some people here, we don't take showers together." He gazed pointedly at Bernie and Haldir and then at the sons of Elrond.

"You've been talking to too many fan-girls, Rumil, if you're starting to believe those rumors," Elrohir responded coolly.

"We could all do with a little scrubbing." Finley moved to diffuse the tension, his face wrinkled with lines of pain. His dislocated shoulder hurt like the devil, even though Elladan had popped it back into place.

"Easy, Fin. You need ice. And more pain meds. Want me to dig the Lortabs out of the freezer?" offered Bernice.

The bartender inhaled sharply through his nose. He hated taking pain medication, if it was at all avoidable. Especially without a prescription.

"Finley." Elladan's voice was soft and gently reproving. "You need one. Just one, to take the edge off things so you can get cleaned up. All right?"

Exhausted, Finley surrendered. "Okay."

On that note, the group dispersed to their separate homes and showers. Valerie gave the men and Elves the key to her empty apartment. She, Crenna, and Faith were on a mission to make Sara look less like a Gestapo victim before taking her home. The nice thing about Crenna's house was that she had her own bathroom. Also, her parents, accustomed to their daughter's madcap adventures, rarely asked awkward questions.

Finally alone at Crenna's, Sara slowly stripped in front of the large bathroom mirror. For a long moment, she stared into the glass, examining every last inch of her bruised, lacerated skin. Apart from some irritated red lines by her ankles, her legs were okay, but her stomach, arms, face, and neck told an entirely different story. Sighing, the nineteen-year-old climbed into the tub, already full of hot water, and closed her eyes. _Just for a minute,_ she promised herself. Just a minute to let her muscles unknot and relax.

She woke to Faith's impatient knocking on the door fifteen minutes later. "I know you're asleep in there," the Slayer called through the wood. "But you need to wash your hair and get out of the tub. Legolas told me what the doctor said about concussion. You've got five minutes before I take this door off its hinges. So hurry up, okay?"

"Got it. Thanks for the wake up call," Sara yelled back, reaching for the shampoo.

Clean and clad in a pair of Crenna's old pajamas, she opened the bathroom door four minutes and thirty seconds later. Valerie rushed in past her. "I'm covered in _Them_," she explained, pushing Sara out into the hallway. "Got to get it off me before I douse myself in bleach."

Sara could empathize with that. Chuckling, she ducked into Crenna's bedroom. The younger girl definitely owed her a story. And possibly some chocolate. Crenna usually kept a stockpile somewhere. But her friend wasn't napping on the bed; Faith was.

"Where's Cren?" Sara asked, halting uncomfortably in the doorway. She liked Faith well enough but still wasn't sure what to think of her. Plus, the whole sultry dominatrix look she had going on today was rather intimidating.

"Outside." Sitting up, Faith jerked her thumb towards the window. "She said something about needing to clear her head."

"Poor over stimulated girl."

The Slayer snickered. "You got that right. Want to see pictures?"

"Yes, please." Grinning, Sara plopped down on the comfortable twin bed next to Faith. "How did you get the pictures, though? I thought Cren and Elrohir were alone for that part of the plan?"

Faith pulled a small digital camera out of her pocket. It was mind-boggling how she managed to fit anything in those skintight leather pants. Sara refrained from making any comments with difficulty, but the older woman answered the unspoken question anyway. "Just a couple of stakes and a tube of lipstick in my boots. You never know when you're gonna meet a vamp." She brandished the camera. "These are just the fashion show photos, though. We'd have to hack into _Their_ security footage to see what happened at the Gate. And not even Dean feels like going to that much effort. Still, these are pretty good."

"Let's see 'em, then."

Sprawled across the bed next to each other, the two young women presented an interesting picture. A high school slumber party reject and a club dancer out of a zombie movie, laughing their heads off at the ridiculous outfits and poses from the "fashion show." One step at a time, a unique friendship was being born.

* * *

"Bernie, what are you doing?" Finley washed down his biscuits and gravy with a swig of coffee – black, two sugars. "Haldir proposed and you said _yes_?"

The frizzy-haired cook bristled at the tinge of skepticism in his voice. "Yes, I did," she snapped defensively.

"So you think he'll stay around, then?"

"Finley!"

"I'm your cousin, Bern. We're the closest family each other has got. If I don't look after you, who will?"

Bernie's scowl disappeared, and she ruffled her cousin's hair affectionately. "Thanks, Fin. But you don't have to worry about me. I really do love Haldir, and he loves me."

"What if he does leave? What if you wake up or Rosie dies and all of this goes away? What happens when it ends, Bernie?"

"It won't." She was confident. "This is reality. Haldir is real. And he isn't going anywhere."

"You can't know that," Finley contradicted flatly. "One morning you may wake up, and it will all just have been a dream."

"Then it was a dream worth having. Here," Bernie flipped a heavy tomato, mushroom, and bacon omelet onto his plate. "Eat up. Your hurt shoulder is talking, not you." She set a tall glass of water and a large white pill on the counter in front of him. "Take this, then I'm driving you home, sourpuss. You need a nap."

* * *

Evening found the entire rescue-Sara posse reuniting at The Lucky Cat. Bernice and Rosalind had worked their special brand of magic and transformed the place. All the tables and booths were gone, save for a few near the kitchen. The rest of the sticky, grimy linoleum had been replaced by a gleaming parquet wood dance floor. A nice, expensive speaker system sat on the waitress's counter. At the moment, it was playing through a Queen record. Strings of gently glowing white Christmas lights stretched across the ceiling towards the kitchen, where Bernie waited in a golden brown wrap dress to welcome her guests.

Having gotten hung up waiting for the sun to set, Angel and Spike were the last to arrive. They took one sweeping look around the room, saw Faith talking to Dean, and headed for the darkest corner to brood. Well, Angel went to brood. Spike was just along for the ride.

"Let her be, mate," he counseled quietly. "You know and I know that she's never gonna see him again. She knows it, too, and so does Winchester. So let her have tonight."

"I know," Angel sighed. "It's just that . . ."

"Look, Peaches, she isn't Buffy. Faith is Faith, and she loves you as much as she can. But she sure as h-ll isn't ready to do anything about that yet. Especially not when you aren't completely over Buffy."

"Like you are!" the older vampire scoffed.

"Of course I'm not. But I'll get there one day – and at least I'm not fallin' for the other Slayer."

They reached the back corner only to find it already occupied.

"Come to sulk?" Crenna was dressed in a black v-neck and very dark-washed jeans, the better to blend in with the wall. "Spot's taken."

"Mind if we join?" Angel smiled, a smile that had smitten a sixteen-year-old Buffy Summers and led Cordelia Chase to exclaim, "Hello, salty goodness!"

Crenna shrugged. "Why not?" She shifted slightly to make room for them n the darkness.

"What are you hiding from?" asked Spike, leaning against the wall next to her.

The eighteen-year-old sighed. "Elrohir. He wanted to teach me how to cha cha. Sara and Val and Faith were already dancing with Elladan, Rumil, and Orophin."

"This isn't cha cha music," Angel pointed out, nonplussed.

"I know. I paid Finley five bucks to switch the CDs."

Just then, the music changed to a slow, instrumental piece. Counting the beats, Crenna groaned. It was a waltz. Already Haldir and Bernie were taking to the dance floor with Valerie and Sam Winchester close behind them. Dean was staring at Faith with that look in his eyes, and Legolas had extended one hand to a laughing Sara. "Crap. Haldir must've paid him ten."

"Here. How 'bout we leave Tall, Dark, and Forehead, and you come dance with me? Angel's brooding gets kinda boring after the first minute."

That was a proposition she could live with. "Okay."

"Your friends look like they're having fun," Legolas observed in Sara's ear before spinning her out and back in.

"Uh huh," Sara sniggered, watching Sam try to not step on Valerie's feet and Spike, who was holding Crenna a little too closely for the blond girl's comfort. Vampires. She closed her eyes and moved to the music, Legolas's hand pressing gently on the small of her back as he steered.

Suddenly the elf froze, and that guidance was gone. Sara's eyes flew open, and she looked up at the elf, who was gazing at the window, horrified.

"What is it?" Surely _They_ had not returned.

Legolas dropped her other hand. Mouth open, he stared out the restaurant window in distress and confusion. "It's Aragorn," he said slowly. "He's here. I . . . I can't believe it." The wood elf turned from her, and like a sleepwalker, strode to the door and disappeared into the night. Sara started to follow him, but Elladan and Elrohir stopped her.

"Let him go," Elladan counseled, his gray eyes dark and unfathomable. "Legolas has to work this one out on his own."

* * *

**A/N: I met Finley! A few weeks ago, he was my waiter in a falafel restaurant in Paris. Tall, thin, red hair in a ponytail, it was Finley down to the 't'. Forgot to tell you all last time. Sadly, the story is winding down. It would mean the world to me if you would just take a second to press that tempting little 'Review' button and drop me a few lines and tell me what you think of the story. **

**AiH**


	28. Fondue

**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to BtVS, LotR, Supernatural, or anything else belonging to anyone else.**

**A/N: To those of you to whom I promised an update last weekend, I apologize. Homework caught up with me and tried to eat my soul. And now, on with the tale!  
**

* * *

Hands shoved deep within his pockets, Legolas followed the dark, familiar figure through the gravel parking into and across the street into an overgrown lot. The shadow chose a careful path through the tall, nearly waist high grass and the many fallen tree limbs lying scattered on the ground. Never stopping, never stumbling, he moved sure-footedly deeper and deeper into the little wilderness, leading Legolas further and further from the 'Cat. They came to a halt in a small clearing half a mile away. Moonlight shone silver on the green grass in the darkness. At last the figure turned to face Legolas. The elf's breath caught in his throat.

The Man was tall and powerfully built. His weather-stained green tunic and high leather boots made Legolas yearn to be out of this mortal's garb and back in the clothing of his childhood. Knowledge and kindness gleamed in the Man's ancient grey eyes, and his long, dark locks flowed past his chin to curl gently at his collar. A sword hung at his hip, and one of the Man's hands rested casually on its pommel. Like and yet unlike, for this Man was not Aragorn. The nose, the chin, the build were ever so slightly different, and Aragorn had never regarded Legolas with the stern pity that lingered in this stranger's face. They had not been on such terms.

"Who are you, my lord?" Legolas asked quietly, aware that a deferential was needed. The wood elf felt incredibly inadequate in his dress jeans and button-down blue shirt, without so much as a dagger on him.

"Peace, son of Thranduil." The voice was different, too. Less rough – less of the Ranger, as it were – and full of both great joy and an infinite sorrow. "I am not who you thought I was. My name is Tuor. Do you recognize it?"

"Yes, my lord." Wonder filled the elf's eyes as he gazed up at Tuor. Tuor, the hero from ancient legend who won the heart of Idril Celebrindal and weathered the fall of Gondolin. Tuor, the lone man whose fate lay with the Elves after death. Legolas had heard his tale told many a time in the Hall of Fire. Actually meeting him was rather overwhelming.

Tuor smiled now, a gentle smile tinged with irony. "Do not worry. I am here with a message from one who could not come himself. And stop looking so anxious. Manwё did not send me to call you back. In fact, I was not sent by any of the Valar."

"Who, then?" The words came out in a whisper. "Not . . . not Estel?"

The legend shook his head, the pity in his face intensifying. "No, not Elessar. Olorin. He was known to you in another guise, but I believe you will recognize the name."

"Mithrandir?"

"Yes, that was one of his names."

"What did Mithrandir say?" Legolas asked eagerly, still careful to keep a respectful distance from the figure.

"In his own words: 'Fool of an elf! The past is past, and you cannot live in memories forever. Aragorn's tale is over. Yours is not. _Do_ something!' Not one to mince words, is he?"

"No, no, he never was . . . Gandalf."

"I have heard the stories. On long nights, when many are gathered together for the telling of tales, we often hear of Frodo the Nine-Fingered and the Ring of Doom. All the more so because it makes the Halflings blush. You did well, all nine of you. I am sorry that you had to say good-bye to your friends, but Legolas . . ."

"Yes?"

Tuor glanced up into the night sky where scattered stars shone white like diamonds. For a moment he paused, silently looking upwards. Then he turned back to the elf, and the starlight seemed to linger still in his eyes. "You cannot leave people on a pedestal forever. Eventually they fall. And it is rather lonely up there."

"Who have I put on a pedestal?" Legolas wondered, genuinely confused.

"Let him go. Let him rest. Let yourself rest. Be at peace, son of Thranduil," Tuor counseled, echoing his first salutation.

"But I" –

"The time appointed for this meeting quickly runs out. Farewell," the legend said solemnly. "And listen." Then taking a step backwards, he vanished into the trees.

Legolas did not bother going after him. If Tuor had left, then he was well and truly gone. No amount of chasing or calling would bring him back again. The elf stood in the clearing, arms wrapped about his thin waist. What was it that Mithrandir had said? Do something. Move on. Tuor's own words had been much to the same effect. Let Aragorn go. Let the memories fade. And listen. But to what? To Mithrandir, to Tuor, to his own heartbeat? What was the thing Legolas had been charged with listening to?

He stood there without speaking, glancing about and around at the trees and brush and fallen branches. The elf's mind whirred uncomfortably, but he forced it to be still and introspective. Quiet. For how could there be noise without silence?

And then he heard it. Soft at first, yet clearer than any melody ever sung. A silver, crystal music that grew gradually louder and louder until he recognized it, until he knew it, until his heart was nearly bursting with joy and wonder. Gazing up into the velvety sky, his eyes brimmed over with glistening tears that spilled onto his cheeks. The stars were singing. _His_ stars were singing. After millennia of silence, the stars were letting their music be heard once again.

* * *

"Anyone want to make a bet on who's going home with whom tonight?"

"That's disgusting, Rumil."

"He's got a point, though, Orophin," Elladan observed. "There is a definite shortage of females tonight, and some people are pairing off."

"We would have more girls to dance with if you hadn't killed all of _Them_."

The sons of Elrond stared daggers at Rumil.

"Easy, you two. I was only joking."

While Bernie danced with Haldir, the other four Elves had commandeered the kitchen to do some cooking on their own. Rumil found the deep-fryer and began frying everything in sight. Orophin and Elladan hunted for something to turn into a suitable chocolate fondue pot. After the first batch of mozzarella sticks came out, Elrohir relieved Finley from DJ duty so the bartender could go dance with Sara. Unfortunately, a deeply hidden part of Elrohir was secretly a Paculelf. This meant that he played straight techno for five songs in a row until the dancers were ready to kill him. Distracting the homicidal party-goers with fresh fondue, Elladan smacked some sense into his younger brother, and the normal course of pop-Latin-swing-slow resumed.

Humming along to La Vida Loca, Rumil scooped a large pile of glistening golden-brow tater tots out of the fryer and spread them out on a plate lined with paper towels. "What next?"

Elladan took the tots and passed them through the window to Elrohir, who set the hot plate on the waitress's counter. Valerie and Sam immediately flocked to it, Spike and Crenna at their heels. "How about onion rings?"

"Batter up!" Orophin held out an onion and a large, empty silver bowl.

His kinsmen stared blankly at him, then rolled their eyes.

"Sorry. That was pretty bad."

"Right. Well, Rumil, I'm ready to take your challenge."

"Oh?" The tall elf switched a knob of the fryer to the off position and reached for the plate of fried chicken strips that was getting perilously close to the fondue pot. "What do you think?"

"Bernie and Haldir for one."

The others scoffed in derision. "That one is obvious."

"Unfortunately," Rumil added under his breath.

Confused, Elladan gazed at him questioningly. His brows drew together in a puzzled look that was disturbingly reminiscent of Elrond. "Why is it so bad that your brother is getting married?"

"To the woman who drugged his lembas and caused all three of us no end of trouble? Bernie is infamous for her intense relationships and even more intense breakups. I don't want things to end badly. And I do not want my brother to seek the Havens."

"You're never going back, are you?"

"Silvan, Elrondion. We've seen the ocean, dozens of times. She doesn't call to us the way she calls to you."

"The Sea calls to Legolas," Orophin pointed out, sticking the onion back in the fridge.

"Legolas has Noldorin blood. Also, the poor Sea can't help herself. She's a girl. Of course she calls to Legolas."

Elladan chuckled. "The Sea isn't actually a girl, you know. That is another mortal habit you've picked up."

"Dang it." Rumil snapped his fingers together in fake disappointment. "Those darn humans. Hey, Orophin, pass me a pineapple?" He dodged the spiky fruit when his brother chucked it at his head. "Thank you. All right, Elladan, Bernie's going home with Haldir, we'll give you that much. Now what about the others?"

"Valerie and the younger hunter won't actually do anything." Having set the music to a sappy Celine Dion love song, Elrohir ducked back into the kitchen. "They're into even really flirting. Besides, right now Valerie is waltzing with Finley, Spike's dancing with Sara, and Crenna is two-stepping with the Winchester boy. None of them are going home with each other – at least not like that."

"But you think Dean and Faith might?" prompted his brother.

"Angel's headed for the door. Apparently he thinks so, too."

* * *

"You clean up pretty good, Albuquerque"

Dean grimaced. For a hot girl, Faith could be pretty darn annoying. "Do you want to dance?"

"You actually know how to dance to this stuff?" she ridiculed.

"It's easy. All you do is stand and sway – unless you're Finley, and you like to show off." He nodded his head towards the ginger bartender, who was Viennese waltzing with Valerie and had now paused to spin her. "Think you can handle that?"

"Oh, I can handle it." Dean was not the only one who had cleaned up for the evening. For once, Faith's shoulders, stomach, back, and chest were all covered. Then again, the silky red top she wore was tight enough that it didn't matter. Now the Slayer closed the distance between the older Winchester and herself. She wrapped her arms around his neck as his settled comfortably on her waist. Noticing movement out of the corner of her eye, Faith glanced over to see Angel striding quickly to the door, his face dark and cloudy. Pushing the uncomfortable emotion away, the Slayer turned her gaze back on Dean. "I can handle it," she repeated confidently as their bodies began moving to the music. "Can you?"

* * *

Twelve o'clock came and went, and still Legolas had not returned. The company had danced for hours, nearly emptied the fridge, and even cleaned the restaurant! At last there was nothing for it but to go home. Faith had slipped out the door while Dean was in the bathroom, and all the other men now owed Spike ten bucks. After collecting his money, the vampire took off in the Dodge Charger. The others listened dully to the furious roar of the police car's engine until it slowly faded to silence.

"You guys want to stay at my place?" Valerie offered to the Winchesters. "I've got a couple of extra beds, a couch, an X-box…"

"Done," Dean replied at once. Anything was better than another crappy motel.

"Mind if we crash, too?" Rumil's face was all glittering white smile and innocent gray eyes.

"Why not? The more, the merrier. Finley?"

"Hmm?" The bartender, who had been watching Dean intently as if taking mental notes, glanced up, startled. "Oh. Do you have Halo 3?"

"Of course."

"Thank you. I would love to stay."

Valerie turned to ask Sara, but the younger girl looked tired and anxious. Plus, she had a death grip on her phone. "Well, then, let's go." The six of them trooped out to the Impala and Puddle Jumper.

"Wait a minute!" Crenna rushed to the door as the engines revved, but too late. They were already pulling out of the parking lot. "Oh crap. There goes our ride."

"We can take you home." Luckily, it was Elladan who made the suggestion and not his brother. Elrohir might have gotten slapped. "Are you ready, Sara?"

Blinking thickly, Sara forced herself to focus on the situation. She had been lost in thoughts of . . . something else, at any rate. "Oh. Yes, I'm ready."

"We'll be off, then." The elder son of Elrond bowed to Bernice. "Thank you for the wonderful evening and for the use of your kitchen." His gaze drifted over to the blond elf standing behind her, his hands on her shoulders, and his voice took on a hint of cold warning. "Take care, Haldir."

Stepping out into the warm June evening, Sara and Crenna stood patiently by a car until the Elves came out to join them.

"Wrong vehicle, Sara," Elladan called out. "You and I are taking Haldir's car tonight."

"So that means I'm left alone with . . . D'Arvit," Crenna muttered, sotto voce.

Sara smirked. While it wasn't nice to leave a friend in such an awkward situation, it was definitely funny. Snickering, she climbed into the front seat of the charcoal gray Mazda that Elladan had just unlocked. He got behind the wheel and turned the key in the ignition. Finally realizing how incredibly exhausted she was, Sara leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes.

"Long day?"

"Ha." She managed a dry laugh. "You don't know the half of it."

"I can imagine." Given Elladan's extensive experience with orcs and war and torture and _Them_, this was probably true. "Elrohir and I are surprised at how well you're doing – pleased, too, of course," he amended hastily.

"You're not the only ones. I just want to curl up in m nice warm bed and sleep."

A little belatedly, Elladan started the car. "That's why I'm taking you straight home."

"Mmm." The girl wriggled even deeper into the upholstery.

Chuckling slightly, he turned onto the main drag and drove smoothly towards Sara's house. They were halfway there before Elladan spoke again. "Are you still worried about Legolas?"

Sara opened her eyes reluctantly. "Honestly, yes. I don't get why he runs off like that."

Both hands on the wheel, the elf chose his next words with care. The single, obvious, easy answer was that Legolas had gone crazy, but that was cruel and did not take into full account all the wood elf's complexity and previous experiences. "Legolas has been . . . unstable for a while. Trauma has caused him to revert back to something – someone – he thinks he was, but never actually was. The past has greater power over him than does the present. Alas, 'this world of ours, it has to be confessed/Is not so sturdy as it was of old,'" he quoted ruefully, pulling into Sara's driveway.

"Chaucer, right? I read the Canterbury Tales last semester."

"Yes, that was Chaucer. A great wordsmith and quite an intriguing man. But you are home now, and that is a tale for another time. Good night, Sara."

"Good night." The girl hopped out of the car and ran inside.

Elladan watched her go, typing a strongly worded text message. When the front door closed behind her, he hit 'send.'

* * *

One extremely long, hot shower later, teeth brushed and flossed, Sara and her fluffy blue slippers wandered down the hall to her bedroom. She shut the door to muffle the noise from John's newest videogame. "Good night, moon," she yawned out the window while plugging her phone into its charger. Kicking her slippers off, she slipped beneath the covers. Sara was almost asleep when her phone buzzed once, loudly.

Annoyed, the teenager opened an eye and reached for the dratted thing. She had one new message.

_Sorry for pulling my disappearing act again. I had a great deal to think on tonight. Tell you about it tomorrow afternoon? I am so thankful that we got you back safely. Good night and pleasant dreaming!_

_-Legolas_

As apologies went, it was well-worded and rather sweet. Grinning, Sara set the phone down and snuggled back under her comforter._ Dreamland, here I come._

* * *

**Author's Note: Alas, we only have one chapter and an epilogue left before our story ends. I would be thrilled if this story could reach 200 reviews by then - it's not too far off now, but please take the time to review and let me know what you think of this newest chapter. I always love hearing from you - especially shadow readers. Have a wonderful weekend!**

**AiH  
**


	29. Caramel Popcorn

**Disclaimer: A poem in very early honor of Valentine's Day:**

**Roses are Red;  
****Violets are Blue.  
****No one likes copyright laws.  
****Not even you.**

* * *

"Are you going to slap me again?" Elrohir asked a tad nervously as he approached the blond teenager leaning up against the hood of his car.

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you're a mortal girl, and the reasoning behind your actions is questionable at best. You do the strangest things, and no logical person can ever figure out why," he explained.

Crenna raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Really."

"Shall I give you examples?" the elf offered, opening her car door.

Fastening her seat belt, she shrugged. "Be my guest."

His examples were vivid, pointed, and occasionally discomfiting. They spent the entire fifteen minute car ride discussing such paragons of womanly behavior as Elizabeth Swann, Bella Swan, Cho Chang, Christine Dae, Beatrice, Lydia Bennett, and Elrohir's personal pet peeve, Juliet Capulet. Of all Shakespeare's women, she was his least favorite. Frankly, Crenna couldn't' believe his familiarity with all those characters and said so. The elf just shrugged. He reminded her of the length of his life. With bottomless bank accounts and the growing lack of orcs in the world, he had plenty of time on his hands to read. Then he resumed telling her why teenage females should never be considered mentally competent.

"Okay, okay, get off your soapbox. Yes, you've got a point. Sometimes we don't think too clearly when we fancy ourselves in love."

Elrohir's snort spoke volumes.

"Anyway," Crenna restrained herself from slapping him with considerable effort. "It's not as if you're that much better. Haven't you ever done something dumb or bone-headed when your hormones were speaking louder than your brain? Haven't you ever been driven by your blood? I thought so," she added when he didn't answer.

"That's different." The elf struggled to defend himself. "It was only a couple of times."

"Hypocrite." Crenna grinned, having finally one-upped him.

Turning the car into her long gravel drive, Elrohir waved this comment away airily. "You are a teenage girl. Your opinions cannot be trusted."

"And yours can? You chauvinistic, stuck-up, stuffy, _old_ elf."

"There is only one way to solve this disagreement," he declared in solemn tones, but his mischievously glinting eyes gave that the lie.

"And what is that?"

"A race on horseback, eleven o'clock tomorrow morning. Elladan will supervise."

"What?"

"We'll meet you here, then trailer the horses to a suitable section of woods. Your mustang does trailer, I assume?"

"Of course!" Crenna scoffed, although she was secretly worried. Shiva had never been successfully gotten into a trailer in less than an hour.

Elrohir reached across her and opened the car door. "Good night, then. I will see you at eleven."

"Eleven," she echoed, taking the hint and getting out. At the porch, Crenna glanced back to watch the black sedan disappear around the corner into the night. Somewhere in the pasture behind the house, animals moved. One of the new calves bawled plaintively for its mother. The old cow lowed back in reassurance. Crenna listened to the night noises, inhaling deeply through her nose. Each breath released the stress of the day. When anxiety was at last replaced by serenity, the girl turned on her heel and went inside.

* * *

Sunday afternoon found the entire gang reconvening at Sara's house. Mrs. Gilley was vaguely startled by the large group at first, but luckily she had several frozen pizzas out in the deep freezer. While Bernie and Sara's mother bonded over fitting the pizzas into the oven, the other hurried to set up John's Rock Band game. With Sam on drums, John on bass, and Dean on lead guitar, Valerie and the Brothers Treegarth traded the microphone around on Barracuda and Crocodile Rock. Legolas had come by right after church to talk to Sara. Now the elf sat curled up at one end of the couch intently reading _The Hound of the Baskervilles_. Sprawled on the carpet between the readers and the gamers, Finley and Sara were quietly discussing his thesis and her London plans.

"So what's your topic again?"

The redheaded bartender smiled ruefully. "I still don't have one. I've been considering the human need for connection a lot lately. Look at all the varied relationships of the people around us." He kept his voice low, intimate, meant for her ears only. Legolas could hear them, of course, but the elf's deep interest in his book was real, not feigned, and he wasn't paying attention. Well, not very much attention, anyway.

Finley went on, "Consider for a moment. Dean and Sam Winchester. Two brothers, united by so much yet divided by almost more. Haldir and Bernie. Now that's an interesting couple. Rumil and Orophin and Haldir, and how the three of them have been interacting and supporting each other for years. Legolas and you."

"What?"

There came a muffled snort, and a loud turning of pages from the couch behind them.

"Relationships," Finley reminded her sternly. "_All_ relationships. This group has so many bizarre ones. Crenna and Legolas. Legolas and the sons of Elrond. Elrohir and Crenna. The Winchesters and Valerie. Bernie and myself."

Sara sniggered. "Yup, that's a weird one, all right." She paused. "Speaking of the sons of Elrond, where are they? And where's Cren? She should have been out of church three hours ago."

The couch snorted again, more loudly this time.

Finley raised one ginger eyebrow and rolled his eyes, nodding his head back towards Legolas and his book. "How go Sherlock Holmes and his faithful Dr. Watson?"

Legolas did not deign to answer him. Sara and Finley glanced at one another and burst into silent giggles as Valerie took the microphone from Haldir and began singing No Doubt's "Don't Speak."

"You didn't mention us on that list of weird relationships," Sara said in a mildly flirtatious voice, mild being the most flirtatious that Sara could ever get.

Eyes twinkling mischievously, Finley just grinned at her. He leaned closer to whisper in her ear, "That's because I haven't quite decided where to put you yet."

What a line! Legolas raised his book to cover his face, then stuck his tongue out at the text. The bartender never used pick-up lines on purpose or insincerely, but still . . . it was a bit much. Shaking his head, the elf returned to his reading. At least the world of Holmes and Watson and the Baskervilles was blessedly free of human romantic entanglements.

* * *

In all his thousands of years, Elladan had only twice met horses that honestly preferred their mortal owners to Elves. The mounts of the Rangers and the steeds of the Rohirrim had been that way, but no others, not for millennia. Elladan rather thought that kind of love and loyalty between horse and human had disappeared completely. Today, he was learning his mistake.

It all started when he pulled the horse trailer into Crenna's yard, and saw girl and mustang waiting for him by a small pile of tack. She rode Western, he noted, while the dark grey gelding pawed the ground nervously and Elrohir made some sardonic comment. Plus, the half-wild animal trusted her, as evidenced when he refused to enter the trailer unless Crenna walked beside him, gently coaxing and cajoling, calling to him in . . . was that Navajo? The drive to a nearby state park was equally unsettling. Having insisted on sitting shotgun, Crenna kept her eyes fixed on the side mirror so that she was always watching her horse. Elladan and Elrohir exchanged looks in the rearview mirror. They knew the girl liked horses, but surely this was excessive?

Upon arrival at the park, Elladan found an empty gravel parking lot near the trails to unload the horses. Crenna's mustang was the first off, and she led him in tight circles until he calmed down. While the over-excitable gelding grazed, Elladan and Elrohir unloaded their own mounts, two perfectly match coal black Arabians. It had been an Arabian decade. The Elves addles the Arabians with exact replicas of the tack they had used so often in Rivendell. Crenna tacked up her crazy horse just as quickly, tying halter and lead to the saddle skirt. Having ridden since they were children, none of the three bothered with helmets.

Elladan locked the truck and slipped the keys into his belt pouch. For riding, the sons of Elrond dressed like themselves – tunics and trousers and Elven boots. Unable to totally abandon weaponry, they wore light swords at their hips. Mounted on their finely bred Arabians, they reminded Crenna of a medieval tapestry. Crenna herself wore what she always did – old jeans, well-worn boots, and a slightly faded T-shirt. Taking a moment to admire the pretty picture the Elves made, she swung up into the saddle.

"The rules!" called out the elder son of Elrond before either of the others could take off.

"We have rules? Are you serious?"

Flashing Elrohir a quelling stare, Elladan continued. "Right. No touching the other rider or their mount. This is not a race, but a contest of skill. Do not ride your horse into the ground. Ink and I will follow behind, and we will declare the winner. Falling off results in automatic loss. Do you agree to abide by these conditions?"

Crenna shrugged. "Sure."

Elrohir sighed. "All right."

"Then let the contest begin!"

And they were off. Hooves gauging into the soft turf, Elrohir's Pixie galloped away for the nearest trailhead. Shiva followed, his nostrils flared wide. Ink and Elladan brought up the rear at an easy lope.

Elrohir chose an excellent trail with fallen branches for jumping, little gullies and hills for awkward scrambles, and a couple of streams for water crossings. With her light rider and fearless disposition, Pixie practically flew through the woods. Crenna held Shiv in a few lengths behind them. This wasn't a race, per se, so there was no point in letting him run himself into exhaustion. Besides, this way Elrohir and Pixie got to take the obstacles first. Not that they were too bad – admittedly, Shiva disliked water, but Crenna had ridden him through the cow pond a few times, and this was _way_ better than that. The ride was nearly over, and Elladan had yet to choose a winner when it happened.

Pixie leapt over an ancient, toppled oak. Shiva was about to follow when something sprang out at him from behind the bole of another giant tree. Crenna's heart jumped into her throat as she stared at the creature. Taller than she was, thickly built, dark skin, matted hair, and red, red eyes. Man-shaped, and yet most definitely not a man.

"Crenna!" Elrohir shouted, checking Pixie and wheeling her around to face this new foe. Elladan urged Ink forwards, but for the moment there was nothing and no one between the girl and the orc.

No one, that is, except Shiva. When his rider froze, Shiva reared tall, pawing the air in front of the orc's face to frighten him away. The orc took a single step back, but no more. Crenna clung like a burr to her gelding as the mustang plunged back down, not quite finished yet. Whirling around, Shiv lashed out with his powerful rear hooves. The kick caught the orc on its leather-clad chest and knocked it off its feet, just in time for Elrohir to ride up, leap off his Arabian, and decapitate the monster with one sweeping sword stroke.

"Are you all right?" Elladan rode over to Crenna, who was ashen-white, her eyes fixed on all that blood. _They_ hadn't scared her at all, but a single orc was something else entirely. Perhaps this girl was not as brave as he had thought.

"Crenna," Elrohir repeated in a much gentler tone than his previous shout. The elf wiped his sword on the bright green grass. Catching Pixie by the reins, he led her over to the panting mustang and petrified girl. "You okay?"

"What was that . . . Why are there orcs in my woods?" she asked in a cracking voice. Her woods. Her rides. Her place of peace. It had just been desecrated.

"An excellent question." Anything to keep the girl talking. "We could track this one, see where he came from."

Elladan shot his brother a furious look. This was most certainly not an appropriate time. Somehow, though, it seemed to pull Crenna back to her senses. She sat up straighter, tossing her head back and releasing her death grip on the saddle horn.

"I don't have a weapon." Orcs, in her woods? It was not to be borne!

Both of the Elves laughed in surprise, even Elladan. "Here." He unbuckled a small sheathed dagger form his belt and passed it over to her. "Just in case. We would prefer you ran than used it."

"Or let that horse of yours do his work. What did you say his name was, again?" The brothers' eyes met over Crenna's head in a silent exchange.

_What are we doing? You never like hunting with humans._

_Better to hunt with one than watch her lose her courage._

_A foolhardy chase will not restore bravery._

_It isn't foolhardy. That orc was not all by himself. There are others in these woods._ Elrohir inclined his head towards the corpse.

_So we take an untried girl armed with only a dagger? Even if she does ride better than you._ Elladan glanced at Shiva significantly.

**_WHAT? _**Elrohir's look of intense outrage needed no further gestures.

"His name is Shiva," Crenna repeated for the third time, aware that she was missing something.

"Shiva?" The word escaped through gritted teeth as Elrohir glared at his brother.

"The destroying god?"

"Yep."

"Very well, then." Elrohir remounted and gathered the reins into his hand. "Let us go destroy."

* * *

It was seven o'clock in the evening, and the Sun had barely begun her majestic descent towards the horizon. Midwestern sunsets possessed a beauty rivaling even that of Middle-earth, some times. Tonight was definitely one of those days. Sara stood by the sliding glass door, looking out at the painted sky. After a moment, she drew the curtains and joined the giant dog pile on the couch. Wriggling over slightly, Valier made room for her.

Just then, someone knocked on the front door. John got to his feet and went to open it, shuffling his feet loudly in protest at being made to move. Crenna and the sons of Elrond rushed in past him, somewhat scraped up and quite pleased with themselves. They took places on the floor by Rumil and Orophin. Raising one eyebrow, Rumil leaned forward and whispered softly into Elrohir's ear. The younger son of Elrond shook his head emphatically, then mimed stabbing something.

"Movie time!" Sara declared autocratically as Finley handed her the remote.

"What are we watching?" Crenna sounded far too calm.

Hmm. Sara would ponder over this later. "Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow," she replied, giving her friend a hard stare. "Everybody ready?"

"One moment!" Bernice rushed in with two giant metal bowls full to the brim with caramel popcorn. She set one in Dean's lap and carried the other over to the recliner she was sharing with Haldir. The frizzy-haired cook snuggled in next to her fiancée. "Okay, we're ready."

Finally. Sara hit play and leaned back to enjoy the movie. Sky Captain was an excellent film. It felt very noir, not that Sara actually knew what 'noir' meant. But it seemed to fit. Bernie's popcorn was fabulous. Sandwiched between Val and Fin, with Legolas just on Finley's other side, the girl had picked the perfect spot. Halfway through the movie, Finley slipped his arm around her shoulders, and Sara was very content, indeed.

When Sky Captain ended, the group sat around playing card games. Rumil and Orophin dominated at B.S. while Bernie was a pure terror in Egyptian Ratscrew. Using Oreos for poker chips, Dean, Sam, and Valerie conned the other Elves into playing Texas Hold'Em, and then proceeded to rob them blind. Legolas wisely refused to play; instead, he returned to the Baskervilles, glancing up from time to time to make sarcastic comments. Watching her friends' amicable bickering made Sara smile. She was still sitting next to Finley, trying in vain to catch Rumil or Orophin lying. They had to be cheating! It was B.S., after all. But somehow her accusations always proved to be unfounded.

After the cards came Taboo and Bang, Werewolf and Bonanza, Munchkin and Settlers of Catan. When the novelty of those worthy games had been exhausted, the friends resorted to Trivial Pursuit, Scene It, or walks out into the starlight, depending on personality type. Sara was mildly mystified by how no one seemed to want to go home, despite the lateness of the hour. Even John was having fun!

Upon returning from a stroll around the block with Legolas, the girl halted outside and gazed up at the stars.

Legolas looked at her questioningly. "What is it?"

For a moment she didn't answer, too busy taking it all in. Then Sara turned to him, a grin lighting up her face. "This is going to be the perfect summer."

And it was.

* * *

**A/N: And thus, alas, dear readers, we come to the end of our story. An epilogue will be forthcoming in the next week. If there are any unanswered questions you still have, please let me know in a review, and I will seek to answer them in the epilogue. Reviews are greatly appreciated.**


	30. Epilogue: Toffee

**Disclaimer: For the last time, I regretfully inform you that I own nothing to do with Lord of the Rings, Supernatural, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Pirates of the Caribbean, or any of the other wonderful works of literature, television, and cinema that have made their way into this tale.**

* * *

**Epilogue:**

Sara stood at the end of the security line at Chicago O'Hare International Airport. The line stretched on forever and moved like molasses, and that was perfectly all right with her. London and adventure waited on the other end of that line, but she had some goodbyes to make first. And that was the tough part.

It had indeed been a perfect summer, filled with games and walks and movie nights, trips to the lake, mini-crises when _They _came to town, and always, always a feeling of love and of being loved. It was difficult to let go. Part of Sara never wanted the summer to end. Will she, nil she, August had come at last, and her friends began to slowly drift off on their separate ways.

Bernie had returned to her café two weeks ago, and Crenna left for Northwestern the week after that. To everyone's mild surprise, Elrohir and Elladan rented a place out in the country a half hour form her dorm and moved Pixie, Ink, and Shiva up there. Apparently, the area around Northwestern was riddled with orcs. Haldir and his brothers had said their goodbyes last night, promising to come visit around Michaelmas.

"It's been years since we did Shakespeare," Orophin had reflected, blue eyes dancing merrily.

"I think it's time for another revival of Hamlet," Haldir had added. He was still engaged to Bernice, and his brothers had even gotten accustomed to the idea.

"Nah. Not Hamlet," Rumil interjected. "Macbeth. You can get that dame of yours to play your Lady. She was born for the part."

Then again, perhaps acceptance was still quite a long way off.

As for the Winchesters, they had used Valerie's apartment as a crash pad all summer. The brothers would disappear for three days, a week, half a month, and then return to rest up, heal up, and get all the blood and other nasty gunk out of their clothing. Faith never came back, and Dean never mentioned her. Two days ago, San and Dean had taken off for upstate New York. Before they left, they stopped by to give Sara two bone-crushing hugs and Sam's Skype address.

Legolas had driven her to the airport and was circling the car around the terminals so her mother and brother could come in. That had been a painful farewell. The elf had embraced her and kissed her forehead, whispering a quiet "Navaer an si" with never so much as a term of endearment. They had learned to avoid those since the grand kidnapping debacle.

And so it had come down to her family and Finley. Sitting next to each other during Sky Captain had blossomed into one date, then two, then one every week. It took guts dating, what with all their friends looking on curiously and discussing the new relationship every time they left the room. If Bernie and Haldir could do it, however, then so could they. Now Finley was holding her hand, a new, rather pleasant habit that had developed in the last month.

"I'm going to miss you so much." Mrs. Gilley enveloped her daughter in a tight hug. Sara fought back tears. She really did love her mother, and it was going to be very difficult not talking to her. "John, hug your sister," Sara's mom ordered when they broke apart.

John did, awkwardly. "Too bad your cool friends won't hang around once you've gone," he mumbled.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Finley grinned.

The fifteen-year-old snorted. He still didn't get why someone cool like Finley would want to date his sister, but whatever. Just then, the security line suddenly started moving faster. In a minute, they would almost be up to the tape-separated lines.

"We'll see you for spring break, sweetie," Mrs. Gilley promised as she gave Sara another quick hug. "Come on, John. We'll wait for you at the car, Finley."

The girl watched them go, greatly appreciating her mother's tact, then turned to her boyfriend. Such a weird term, boyfriend. Even weirder when applied to Finley, in relation to herself. "Well?"

"Well." Finley lifted her carry-on bag and carried it easily as the line advanced forward.

Sara studied him as he moved. She liked Finley very much indeed, but they were not staying together while she was in England. He was twenty-seven; she was nineteen. As Bernie had reminded both of them forcefully and repeatedly, that was rather a large age difference, and they were still too young to be making any big decisions just yet. Sara's family was coming in March, and Legolas was considering flying to London for Christmas, but Finley had made no such plans. He had finally decided to sit down and write his dissertation, and that would be occupying the majority of his time. When she returned in June, they would see where things lay. If feeling and mutual attraction remained unchanged, they would pick up where they left off. If not, well, it had still been the perfect summer.

They talked about nothing in particular while the line moved, holding hands tightly to enjoy their last few moments together. Too soon, Sara was almost up to the security guard, and it was time for Finley to leave. He held her close for a moment, then kissed her gently – not on the forehead as Legolas had done, but right on the lips.

"You know what I thought, that first day when you and your Star Trek shirt wandered into the 'Cat?"

"What did you think?" Sara asked breathlessly.

"Here she comes, the quirky adventurer."

"Seriously?"

"Gospel truth." He kissed her again, and now it really was time to go. "Good luck and good-bye, my quirky adventurer."

She smiled back bravely. "TTFN."

"Ta ta for now," Finley finished. Squeezing her hand, he set the carry on at her feet, kissed her once more, and was gone.

"Next!" called the TSA agent.

Shouldering her bag, Sara stepped up to the desk.

"Passport and ticket, please."

"Here they are." She fished the identification out of her pocket and passed them over.

The TSA agent checked them carefully before handing them back. "Proceed."

Sara proceeded to the baggage scanner, never once looking back. It had been an amazing summer, but summer was over. Challenges and university lay ahead in London. She would meet them with her head held high, with an international calling card and Skype and a tin of Bernie's toffee to see her through the rough patches. After all, Sara Anne Gilley was the quirky adventurer. Life might be tough sometimes, but it was always interesting. And that was just the way she wanted it.

_Fin._

* * *

**A/N: Thank you so much for taking the time to read this story all the way through. I hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it.**

**Farewell until the next tale,  
AiH **


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